<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>You know what you need to do right now? by Annie_in_Wonderland</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358751">You know what you need to do right now?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_in_Wonderland/pseuds/Annie_in_Wonderland'>Annie_in_Wonderland</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>How to Get Away with Murder</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Connor Needs A Hug, Depression, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Season/Series 03, Suicidal Thoughts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:55:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,906</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358751</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie_in_Wonderland/pseuds/Annie_in_Wonderland</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I’ve always thought of addiction as a whirl, or a downward spiral, that’s the common phrase, right? But it isn’t. It’s like a hurricane and you’re right in the middle of it, in the eye, in the quiet! You made this mess and there you are, enjoying the peace and quiet in the eye of the hurricane where you don’t even realise that you are not only destroying yourself but everyone and everything around you!”, he shouts at him. “Wow, how long have you been working on that metaphor?”, Connor just says with an amused smile. </p><p>Set before season 4, just after it was revealed that Connor had been in the house just before it burnt down and Laurel screams at him (You know what you need to do right now? You are going to go kill yourself. That's the one good thing you're going to do in your life, Connor.) </p><p>TW: Suicidal thoughts, drug use.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michaela Pratt &amp; Connor Walsh, Oliver Hampton &amp; Annalise Keating, Oliver Hampton &amp; Connor Walsh, Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I am really sorry for any mistakes, English is not my native language and it's been a while since I wrote anything in English. Or rather any fanfiction at all. So you can just tell me if you find any mistakes or typos that bother you so that I can correct them.</p><p>The fanfic is set in S03 for several reasons: 1.) I've just started S04 (omg and I am so excited for S05 to be available on Netlix) because I didn't have netflix before. 2.) S03 is definitly one of my favourites so far because the characters - and especially Connor - seem to become even more complex? Do you know what I mean?</p><p>Ahhhh anyway, I hope you'll like this little story I am creating to distract myself from essays and exams and everything. Idk how many chapters I am going to write. They'll be rather short but I am trying to finish this story. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>You know what you need to do right now? You are going to go kill yourself. That's the one good thing you're going to do in your life, Connor.</em>
</p><p>Laurel’s words echoed in his head. Actually it was her fault, not his. She planted that idea, that <em>thought </em>in his mind and now he couldn’t think about anything else. It was Laurel’s fault, right?</p><p>He knew he was lying to himself. Of course he could blame someone else, as he always did. Laurel because she said the things she said. Wes because he killed Sam. Annalise because... well it’s Annalise. But that’s not true. It’s his own fault, it had been all the time and he knew that. And Laurel’s words did not gave him the idea, they just reminded him of an idea he'd already had.</p><p>But he was too weak, to weak to kill himself. He’d always been the weak one, not Asher, not Wes or anybody else. It had always been him. The one too afraid to tell the police but too weak to keep his big mouth shut. Too weak to stay away from Oliver instead of making him part of the mess he created.</p><p>And still... he couldn’t. Because he was a bloody coward. He couldn’t do it, not yet. But maybe slowly? But maybe... that was the solution, the only way to end this massive tragedy they were all caught in. They could frame him for Wes’ murder,who knew, maybe he had actually done it, maybe he had killed Wes, so they could just... And still he hesitated. Although he'd made the decision to try it a long time ago, he couldn’t tell when exactly...</p><p>Maybe at the party... Ironic isn’t it? Ironic that it was actually Oliver, Oliver’s words that brought him to the idea, no, <em>reminded </em>him of his own idea, the lie he told a long time ago. Maybe that was the moment when the decision was made because ever since then he couldn’t stop asking himself if this was the solution. At least it was worth a try, he wouldn’t become addicted or something... He’d just give it a go, just for a couple of days to finally stop feeling so bloody miserable. Not to get high or whatever. To stop feeling bad. To stop feeling. To stop.</p><p>Maybe after he was too weak to take that step. A single step so that the bus... but he was too weak. Surprise. “Where have you been?”, Ollie asked when he came home late that night. “Went out for a run”, he answered, trying to sound as normal as possible. “I had a lot to think about... just wanted to clear my head.” Liar. Clearing his head was literally the opposite of what he did and was going to do. The part about going for a run was technically not a lie. He just made a little... detour.</p><p>Oliver’s trust made it so much harder to hide it, to hide the pills he just bought in his bag.</p><p>
  <em>You know what you need to do right now? You are going to go kill yourself. That's the one good thing you're going to do in your life, Connor.</em>
</p><p>He had nothing to lose. Nothing. Even his relationship with Oliver... it wasn’t a question of if but when it would end, so it could eventually speed up the process. Rather a pro than a con, right? And what was the worst thing that could happen, besides losing Oliver? Dying? That sounded rather like a pro argument again. He could either find a way of finally coping with all this mess, finally relieve the pain or he could just do a good thing and kill himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Connor? You’re here?”</p><p>Oliver. He is too early. Why is he so early? The pill has just kicked in. That one is better, doesn’t make him sleepy like the last one. It makes him feel... lighter. Does it make him happy? No... just... not that bad anymore. Relieves the pain, lets him forget. Calm. Better than happy. Feeling nothing is so much better. “Connor?”</p><p>“Connor?” Oliver steps into the bedroom. “Is it still the flu?” He doesn’t want to sound so hostile and he knows that Connor is going through a lot recently. But. But not showing up anywhere, not answering phone calls and text messages and staying in bed the whole day? That’s not the Connor he knows. The flu? It still surprised him how Connor, who kept a murder secret for such a long time, could be such a bad liar. Still he’d just nodded, offered some tea, made some soup Connor left untouched. Probably it was all just too much, Wes’ death, the whole thing with Sam, maybe he just needed a couple of days to rest, get some sleep. Just some sleep and everything will be fine.</p><p>“Hey sleeping beauty”, Oliver says as he walks into the kitchen.</p><p>“What time is it?”, he asks.</p><p>“Half past eight.”</p><p>Morning or evening? He just nods waiting for his brain to start working normally again. The light is so bright. Why is it so bright? Why is his head, no, his whole body still aching?</p><p>“I made you coffee.” Morning? How can it already be 8am? Or was it 8:30? He needs to concentrate. He needs to act normal.</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>“Yeah... I think its till the flu... uhm ... it’s just pretty bad.”</p><p>Oliver nods slowly and hands him the cup of coffee. “Sit down.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Connor, sit down, please.”</p><p>Does he know? That’s not possible. He’s been careful, he’s been good at hiding and making up excuses. And lying. Seems to be the only thing he’s ever been good at. “I... I am not mad at you, I just want you to tell me what’s going on. I know you are going through a lot but... You can tell me, okay? I am here for you and we can fix that and everything will be-“</p><p>“Why does everybody keep saying this? I dunno how many times Annalise said we could fix it but you know what? It never worked. We can’t fix that Wes is dead! That we all killed Sam and now our lives are ... such a mess. I mean, none of us is going to get a job or to get a normal life and sooner or later we will all end up in jail, so <em>stop</em> saying that everything is going to be fine and that we can fix it!”, he screams.</p><p>Oliver winces as if he’d slapped his face. “I’m sorry.” The apology makes him feel sick. Or maybe it’s just his body trying to get rid of the damage his little trip caused. Probably both.</p><p>“I don’t want your apology. I just want to be left alone!” His voice sounds more hostile, colder  than he intended. And he can see that he's hurting Oli but ... that's not him. That’s the drugs. Or rather the need of another pill.</p><p>“Sorry. It’s not your fault, Oliver, I am just not feeling good and I think I need a shower so...I’ll be back in a second.” There <em>is</em> a way to fix this. Just a tiny pill and everything is going to be fine. He just needs to go to the bathroom and when he comes back-</p><p>“I found that in your pocket. I... wasn’t spying on you or... well, that’s not true, I was just worried and I am really sorry but then your phone kept ringing and I found it in and... that. So before I make false assumptions... I just want you to explain it to me?" Oliver's voice sounds so desperate that it brakes his heart. </p><p>And just like that his world falls apart.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>So he knows.</p><p>That’s it.</p><p>That's it. He finally managed to ruin what was left of their relationship. Great.  </p><p>Just a little reminder that he <em>is </em>a terrible person that won’t stop hurting Ollie, that Oliver should just leave him, kick him out, whatever. He doesn’t care.</p><p>“What do you want me to say?”, he asks bitterly. </p><p>How can Ollie be so calm? How can he even question himself, wonder if he made <em>false </em>assumptions, while the evidence is clear that Connor lied to him. Again. Disappointed him. Again.  “So it’s yours?” His voice is calm but even in the too-bright light and in spite of his headache and lack of concentration he can see the tears in Ollie’s eyes.</p><p>“No, of course it isn’t, it just happened to be in my bag”, he snaps at him, his voice full of sarcasm and anger, although he knows that Oliver doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve any of this.</p><p>“Connor, calm down, please.” Please. A single word that shatters his heart in pieces. He can’t stand it. He can’t stand this conversation and Ollie’s pain. He’d known it would break their relationship. The final lie, too big and too much. And still he did it. He ruined everything and he did it on purpose and now it’s too late.</p><p>“Did you... did you sleep with someone?” The question hits him out of nowhere.</p><p>“Why’re you asking that now?” Because that’s what he is. That’s the only thing Oliver sees in him. Damaged. Slutty. Unfaithful. A damaged, slutty, unfaithful liar.</p><p>He needs to go to the bathroom. He can’t stand it, he can’t. He just wants to, he just <em>needs </em>to feel numb to survive one more of Oliver’s question, the hurt and anger and disappointment in the face of the person he loves the most. He needs-</p><p>“The drinking and, well, apparently ... <em>drugs</em> now-“ “It’s just some pills, Oliver, for Christ’s sake!” “- and sex. Drinking, drugs and getting laid by half of the town”, Ollie finishes the sentence with a sad smile. “That’s just-“ “What? The only things I am good at? The only things I <em>am</em>? I am not addicted to anything if that’s what you were just goin’ to say, I am not Annalise!”, he shouts and turns around to avoid seeing how his words, how <em>he </em>just hurt Ollie again. Why did he just say that?!</p><p>“Your way of coping with things. That’s what I was going to say.” His voice is too soft. "Although I really do think that you might have a problem..." He should be the one screaming, not Connor.</p><p>“Connor, say something, please. Anything.”</p><p>“What do you want me to say?” This time it’s not a shout but a whisper, defenseless. He feels as if his own face is mirroring Oliver’s helplessness as he turns around again.</p><p>“I just want to talk about it. About the fact that you’ve not only have been drinking way more than you should recently but also hid <em>this” – </em>he throws the little plastic bag on the table in front of him – “I just want to talk about it and... and I want to know if you are lying about... about other things as well. I am not angry, Connor, I am here, so please...”</p><p>“I don’t know.”  Probably the most honest thing he’s said in a while.</p><p>“You don’t know <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“I don’t know if I got laid”, he admits, still avoiding eye contact. If he could only find away to escape to the bathroom. Just for a second.</p><p>Or he could just grab the pills. Lying on the table. So close. He’d be faster than Ollie. He’d just have to grab it and then...</p><p>But he can’t do it in front of him. Not in front of Ollie.</p><p>“Maybe I did. But I can’t remember... I... I’ve been chatting with a couple of guys and apparently I also got the address... Believe me, I don’t know if I really went there, if we really... I barely remember anything that happened in the last... days? Hours? Everything in my head, memories ... they’re just so... so blurry, Ollie. So blurry. And I am <em>sorry, </em>ok? Because I know – and you know as well – that it's probably exactly what I’ve been doing when I wasn’t ... you know... or asleep or when I just took the ones that don’t make me feel sleepy and numb but more awake and just...<em> okay.</em> Almost <em>alive.</em>” What is he actually saying? Why can’t he just stop saying all this stuff? Why can’t he just <em>stop</em>?! “Yeah, I’ve probably cheated on you”, he just shrugs. “That’s what I do, isn’t it? Like you just said? That’s what I’ve always done.”</p><p>There’s a moment of silence. The perfect moment to escape, to get rid of the feelings. Oliver finally gets up from the chair and walks towards him, slowly, with hesitant steps.</p><p>But he can’t move. He can’t move. Not until he suddenly tastes blood and salt, he realises that he’s started crying and biting his tongue to hold back sobs. Carefully, as if he was afraid of breaking him, Oliver wraps his arms around him.</p><p>“Shhh, it’s okay. I got you”, he whispers in his ear. But he is barely holding back his tears as well. “Connor, just tell me, where the other pills are, ok? I’m not angry, just tell me where you’re hiding them”. He wants to push him away but he just can’t, it’s just too much, it’s all too much.</p><p>“There are no other pills.”</p><p>So here we are again. Another lie.</p><p>“The ones that make you feel numb but sleepy. And the other ones that make you feel... <em>almost alive</em>”, Ollie explains. His voice is almost breaking when he quotes what Connor has apparently said. Why didn’t he just stop talking?!</p><p>“I am here, Connor. I got you”, he repeats when Connor doesn’t answer but just freezes in his arms. A statue that can’t move, again.</p><p>“I got you now.”   </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sooo... I'm trying to write/ upload a chapter everyday. Again: I'm sorry for any mistakes, not my native language. Feel free to leave comments :)<br/>The next chapter (or one of the next chapters) will finally include Michaela as well, I guess. </p><p>But now I should really start working on my essays...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Another Ollie &amp; Connor scene, rather short, I'm sorry. And rather Ollie's perspective, though I am not really sure how to write Oliver. So I'd be glad about any recommendations, comments etc. </p><p>We'll get to more conversations and a Connor/ Michaela scene soon, I promise. <br/>I just finally managed to do a lot of reading today. And the series upsets me too much atm, I am very emotional about my favourite characters :D I hope this chapter doesn't bore you too much, hoping to get some inspiration soon to write longer chapters. Though you all probably exactly know what Connor's going to do at the end of this short chapter - or maybe you don't?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Almost alive. </em>That’s what he said and now Oliver can’t stop thinking about his words. They are lying in bed. It took some time until Connor finally calmed down and allowed him to bed. But Oliver knows that he is still crying, quietly, without a sound, his back turned towards him. Just as he knows that he is not only holding him so tight to comfort Connor but also to comfort himself, but also because he is so scared of losing him right now.</p><p><em>Almost.</em> What does that say? How miserable must Connor feel if he takes God knows what just to feel <em>almost </em>alive?</p><p>He should have seen the signs. But instead he chose to believe Connor’s lies although his boyfriend really isn’t as good a liar as he thinks he is. He should have seen the signs. He should have been there. Especially after Laurel literally told him to kill himself. How could he think a little bit of “she didn’t mean it” and “we will fix it, everything was fine” was enough? Why did he ignore the fact that Connor had started drinking too much again after Wes’ death?</p><p>But drinking was one thing. And in this regard Connor was right: he wasn’t Annalise. He would just drown his grief in alcohol for a while and then he would just stop. As always. Yes, drinking was one thing. Drugs on the other hand...</p><p>He’d told Oliver that it was a lie. And he’d believed him, just like he always believes him. And maybe it was a lie, back then, maybe not. But now?</p><p>Oh my god, he is so tired. He is so so tired and worried and angry and sad. And he blames himself.</p><p>“Connor?” Maybe it is too early to ask him again. He just can’t stand the thought of pills hidden anywhere. Because if there still are pills Connor is probably thinking about taking them right now. Or as soon as he lets him out of his sight for a second.</p><p> “I know that you aren’t sleeping.”</p><p>Silence, just the sound of Connor’s breath, still faster than usual.</p><p>“If you want to talk-“ He shouldn’t have said that. Connor’s reaction is never predictable. He might scream at him, full of anger. <em>What do you wanna talk about?! What do you want me to say.</em></p><p>He might start crying, might panic and have a breakdown. <em>I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.</em></p><p>They’ve been through it all, a roller coaster of feelings. Again and again. He just wants to help him so badly, he always wants to help him. He'd do anything just to see his smirk again, the sparkle in his eyes that he fell in love with.</p><p>That would be enough. Just a glimpse of the old Connor. The self-confident, funny Connor. Of course he loves his other side as well, loves him <em>because </em>of this side of him he'd tried to hied for so long. The soft Connor, emotional, insecure, always on the edge. He just misses seeing him happy.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it now, Ollie.” Now he can tell from his voice as well that he’s been crying. So the second option. “I am sorry. I am so sorry for screwing up again.” “Shhhh, that’s fine.” “Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why do you still let me hurt you again and again?”</p><p>“The answer is pretty easy”, he whispers, holding him tighter. “Because I love you.”</p><p>Connor frowns. So now he has said something wrong. How can <em>I love you </em>be the wrong answer?!</p><p>His boyfriend escapes from his arms, pushes him back. He waits for him to say something, to cry, to scream at him, but he just sits there at the corner of the bed, his back turned towards him.</p><p>“Connor?” “I... I just need a glass of water. My head...”</p><p>“I’ll get you some”, he offers. They’ll talk about it later. Maybe it is just Connor’s headaches.</p><p>“No, it’s... it’s fine, Oliver, just..." Not even his nickname. "It's really fine ... just give me a second.” Not really a convincing sentence, well convincing sentences. Rather an unconvincing stumble.  Especially since Connor doesn’t even look at him, while he gets up and leaves the room.</p><p>
  <em>It’s fine.</em>
</p><p>Rather another lie he desperately wants to believe in.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’ll just need a moment to be alone. He’ll come back to bed again soon and they will get through this. It’ll be fine. He will be fine. They will be fine.</p><p>Oliver desperately wants, desperately <em>needs </em>to believe this.</p><p>It doesn’t take so long to drink a glass of water, does it?</p><p>“Connor, are you okay?”, he says loud enough for Connor to hear him. No answer. “Connor?” No no no. He shouldn’t have trusted him, how could he leave him alone for a second? How could he? He <em>knew, </em>he <em>knew </em>that Connor would take whatever was left as soon as possible. It was basically <em>exactly </em>what Oliver thought a minute ago when Connor was still lying in his arms.</p><p>And still he always chooses to believe in lies just to blame Connor for lying to him again a minute later. What if he is actually the liar in this relationship, just lying to himself? He just desperately wants to trust him, wants everything to be fine. Wants to get through all this shit to get the part of Connor back that he is missing the most.</p><p>What if that’s another lie he is telling himself? What if there is nothing left to get back?</p><p>“Connor, are you okay?”, he asks as he enters the empty kitchen. “Connor?” There was no sound of a slamming door nor did he take his jacket. So apparently Connor didn’t leave the apartment.</p><p>“Connor, are you in there?”, he asks knocking at the bathroom door. Unnecessary question. Of course he is, otherwise the door wouldn’t be locked.  “Please open the door”, he begs desperately. Oliver doesn’t know what to say. Nor what to do. “Please, Connor... just <em>don’t.</em>”</p><p>-</p><p>The sound of Oliver knocking at the door worsens his pounding head-aches. Why can’t he just stop, honestly. It’s just too much.</p><p>He just can’t.</p><p>It’s not that he can’t control his craving. He just really really needs to calm down and... feel a little less. It's all just too much. Oliver wants to talk about it. Surprise. It’s Oliver. Of course he does. He just can’t stand a conversation feeling like that. So miserable and pathetic and ashamed and guilty and angry at himself. It’s not that he really needs it, he isn’t addicted for God’s sake. Well, yes, maybe he needs it but just one more time. Just one more time...</p><p>“Please, Connor... just <em>don’t</em>.”</p><p>So f´cking stupid. So so f’cking stupid, it doesn’t take so long to slide into the bathroom, take a pill, come back to bed and wait for the pill to kick him, let him escape a conversation, escape everything for a second. Just once more.</p><p>“Please, Connor, open the door, let me help you.”</p><p>Instead he is just sitting there, on the cold tiles, two small plastic bags in his shaking hands. Why are his hands shaking? He closes his eyes for a second. So so stupid. </p><p>Maybe he can just take one, open the door and pretend that everything’s fine. It usually takes some time until the pills show an effect, how should Oliver know that he was lying?</p><p>
  <em>Because he always does. Because he is a liar. </em>
</p><p>Even if he didn’t take one. Oliver would still think that he just lied. So it doesn’t matter, right? He’d screwed up. It’s too late. So it’s probably the better idea to take one, just to feel numb for everything that might come afterwards, as soon as he let’s Oliver in, as soon as he lies once more, he disappoints and hurts Oliver wants more. Then they’ll fight once more and eventually this time Oliver will not comfort him but ask him to leave. Great. That is what he deserves.</p><p>A tiny pill can make all of it at least ... bearable.</p><p>Damn it, he just needs it so badly, it’s tearing him apart. It's just. Too. Much.</p><p>Just one more time, one last time.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor screwed up. Again.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sooooo here's a second chapter for today because I won't be able to upload anything on New Years Eve.</p><p>Sorry again for typos and language mistakes. Finally a short Michaela scene, more next year :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Where do you hide them?”</p><p>He asks as soon as Connor finally opens the door. His boyfriend is leaning against the door frame, clearly avoiding any eye contact. “I don’t hide anything.” His voice sounds as tired as Oliver feels. “Stop lying to me!” , he snaps at him. It hurts to see Connor wince as if he was slapped in the face.</p><p>He really wants to hug him, hold him tight. Kiss him to feel his lips. But he is so angry; he doesn’t know what upsets him the most. The fact that the love of his life is apparently doing drugs, caught in a downward spiral? That he is lying to him again and again, still doesn’t trust him after all they’ve been through? That Connor doesn’t see that he’s not only hurting and destroying himself but Oliver as well?</p><p>“For once, just or once stop lying!” He really wanted to stay calm, yet he is shouting at him he again.</p><p>“I didn’t take them. I promise, I wanted to ... but...” Helpless like a child. Hard to believe that's the same man he's fallen in love with, the person he's learned to love against all odds. Just a shadow of a shadow of the person he used to be.</p><p>“I know, I screwed up again but trust me... I... didn’t take them.” He stares at him for a moment. The warm feeling of tears running down his face, the taste of salt on his lips, tells him that he has started crying. “I can’t trust you anymore.”</p><p>“Please, Ollie!” The desperation in his voice, in his eyes. His nickname. It hurts, a lot.</p><p>“Connor just tell me where you hide them”, he says, tired as never before.</p><p>Out of the corner of his eye he can see Connor nodding slightly. Then for the first time, he really looks at him. Maybe it’s just the fluorescent bathroom light. It explains why he hasn’t realised before how horrible Connor looks. Pale skin, sunken cheeks. Dark shadows under his blood-shot eyes. Seems as if not even his hair is combed let alone styled as usually. It hurts. So much.</p><p>Connor is biting his tongue again, staring at nothing, his body tense, clenched fists. Oliver can see that he is fighting some inner battle, that he is torn inside.</p><p>“There’s an empty shampoo bottle, at the back of the cupboard”, he finally whispers, so quietly that Oliver can barely hear his words.</p><p> Well that’s a place he’d never thought of. Air vent or under the sink or in one of the drawers, between towels, whatever. It’s such a stupid, ridiculous hiding place that it almost seems pretty clever. If you can call hiding drugs ,clever' at all.</p><p>“Alright.” All of a sudden the anger is gone, just the sadness and exhaustion stays. Tears are running down Connor’s face as well now, and he doesn’t even try to hide them.</p><p>“Thanks for telling me”, Oliver says softly.</p><p>Connor doesn’t say anything nor does he move. “I should pack my things, right?”, he finally whispers. His whole body is shaking.</p><p>“I won’t leave you or ask you to leave. How can you even think-“ “I promise”, he repeats the words. "I promise... I promise, I won't do it again!" "Shhh, it's okay. It's fine", he just answers although that’s a real lie now. Nothing is okay.</p><p>Gently he kisses his cheek before he squeezes past him to get the pills and just drown them in the sink before Connor changes his decision.</p><p>He really wants to believe him that he took none of the small white pills, right now spilled out in the sink, that he won't do it again. He really wants to believe him yet he can’t.</p><p>When he’s finished, Connor isn’t standing next to the bathroom door anymore but lying in bed. He covers him with the blanket, gently. “Come to bed, Ollie.” His voice sounds desperate and sad and somehow strange. “I’ll be there in a minute, I just need to call Annalise.” </p><p>“No, you can’t tell her!” Connor almost jumps up, panic in his voice.</p><p>“Shhh, I won’t tell anyone, okay? But she needs to know that we didn’t go to the police or... fled to Russia or wherever.” “Okay.” He doesn’t even disagree but just falls back into bed, his eyes closed. “I’ll call in sick for tomorrow, okay?” “You can go”, Connor whispers without opening his eyes.</p><p>“Oh no, I can’t.” </p><p>For a moment he thinks Connor is already asleep. Or too high to answer. <em>If</em> he lied. Maybe he didn’t, he told him the truth about his hidden place. And he promised, he promised.</p><p>“I won’t do it again, Ollie”, he finally mumbles. “Trust me.”</p><p>-</p><p>Just one more time. And again, another lie. And again and again and again, a never ending circle of promise, breaking the promise, disappointment, argument, tears, promise. Every time Ollie finds him high or just coming down, every time Ollie discovers his new hiding place, he can see something break in him. There love shattered into pieces until there is nothing left except suspicion and mistrust and hurt and anger and pain.</p><p>“I can’t do this anymore.” The sentence escapes Oliver’s mouth one evening, after another fight because Connor had once more broken the promise not to do it again, had once more disappointed Oliver. They are between phase three and four, between arguing and shouting at each other  - argument – before they both start crying and Oliver wraps his arms around him, consoles him, puts him into bed and holds him until he falls asleep or faints out.</p><p>Except this time Oliver doesn’t.</p><p>“I...” Oliver stares at him helplessly. Fuck, he really screwed up, right? “I want you to choose. Me or the drugs.” “Ollie, please, I-“ “Don’t you dare to promise again, Connor, do you know how many times you’ve already promised me that it was the last time? You need help and I’m obviously not the one to help you and I can’t do this anymore! I ... I can’t be your <em>enabler</em>, do you understand me or are you too high again?!” Oliver’s anger and disappointment hits him so hard, harder than usually.</p><p>“So you are finally tired of trying to fix me?”, he snaps back although he doesn’t want to fight, it’s not Oliver’s fault.</p><p>“I’m not trying to fix you, I just want to help you!”</p><p>“Oh yes you are. From the very beginning, right? You thought you could fix me, poor damaged Connor, try to save me, so that you can feel like a good person. But I’m not some charity case! You can’t help me, you can’t repair me. Naive enough that you even thought you could. That's not <em>love</em>2 - he spits out the word - "and I'm not sure if it ever was.” Oliver stares back at him in horror.</p><p>“Just choose, Connor”, he repeats coldly.</p><p>As if he had a <em>choice.</em> But there is no<em> decision</em> between his love and his need. He really wants to choose Oliver, to choose love. But it’s not a question of choice. “I love you...”, he tries desperately but Oliver just shakes his head, all his anger gone as fast as it came.</p><p>“Don't...  Just leave, Connor.”</p><p>And he does leave.</p><p>-</p><p>„Hey… Michaela! Hi, I just... Can I… well Ollie and I had a fight and… Laurel hates me and I know you hate me too, I mean you all hate me but ... can I please... I just stay at yours for a while? Couple of days or so?” “Are you drunk?”, she asks annoyed before she suddenly freezes.</p><p>“Oh my God”, is the only thing Michaela says, staring at him with raised eyebrows. “You are on something.” He can’t read the expression on her face. Disgust? Surprise? Annoyance? Anger? He doesn’t care.</p><p>“Can I come in?” he asks avoiding eye contact. Okay, maybe he does care, a little bit. “Oh my god no!, she hisses. Michaela has that way screaming and keeping her voice down at the same time. “My whole life I’ve done everything to escape a world of people taking Oxy or whatever, people being high, people trying to withdrawal, people relapsing, people taking Oxy and it always ends as it has started. It’s a cycle, you get that? And we don’t have time for such a stupidity now. Anyway, having a fight with your boyfriend is by no means a reason to take drugs.”</p><p>She wants to slam the door, obviously proud of herself. Or maybe not, he can still not read her face, it’s already hard enough to concentrate on her voice because everything is so loud and foggy and strange and he feels so sick and tired while at the same time his heart is still beating faster than probably ever before and he wants the feeling back that he had when the pills kicked in.</p><p>“It’s the other way round”, he mumbles quietly.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“It’s the other way round... I.... I just... screwed up once too often.”</p><p>“Is that Connor?” Suddenly Asher appears at the door. “Connor dude, come in! What the hell happened you look horrible... I don’t think you don’t look <em>good </em>or <em>attractive</em>, man... just sick, like, honestly, are you okay, you look-” “Asher, just shut up”, Michaela interrupts him with a forced smile. “Connor just wanted to-“ “Go...”, he whispers looking at the floor, slowly nodding. “Shouldn’t ... shouldn’t have...” He can’t even finish the sentence. He can’t stay. He can’t leave. He just can’t.</p><p>“Come in”, she says out of a sudden. “But I swear, if you ever ever show up here high as a kite , I will close the door in front of you and not open it again. You understand? Are you even listening? Connor?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Connor is quite torn and a mess, Michaela tries to help, Asher get's breakfast. And Ollie is worried af.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! Hope that one is better, though writing really helps me getting through the 2nd Lockdown. </p><p>The next chapter is already finished. I promise, they will talk.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Who are you calling? Please don’t tell Oliver ... don’t tell’im I’m here, promise me, ok?” He’s sitting on Michaela’s couch, a pillow in his hands.</p><p>“Connor, calm down, nobody is calling Oliver right now although I really think that you should talk to him, just not ... in your current state.”</p><p>“Does he need to see a doctor, he doesn’t seem-?”, Asher whispers, but his voice is loud enough for Connor to hear.</p><p>“I’m fine!”, he interrupts him.</p><p>And it’s not a lie, right, he doesn’t feel that bad, he feels okay. Don’t think about Oliver, about everything screwed up, screwed up everything. He screwed up. The pills have kicked in, minutes ago, so soon he won’t think about it, he’s be fine, he is fine.</p><p>“Asher, I got this, okay? So can you please stop to annoy me and go back to bed, okay?” “Okay, if you need me-“ “Asher can you please-!” “Okay, okay.”</p><p>Connor can’t hold back a giggle, although there isn’t anything funny at all.</p><p>“Pick up, pick up”, Michaela mumbles like a mantra, giving Connor a worried look again and again.</p><p>“Hey, Laurel, I know it’s quite late but... Can you please tell Connor that you aren’t mad at him and didn’t mean what you said?” She tries to keep her voice calm and normal, too quiet for Connor to hear. “Look, I know that you are upset but ... he’s... he’s on something; yes, I know... okay, so can you please just – thanks, wait, I’ll give him the phone.”</p><p>She glances at him again, sitting on her couch, hugging the pillow and slightly rocking back and forwards.</p><p>“Laurel’s on the phone”, she says with a fake joyful voice.</p><p>“No, Michaela! don’t wanna talk to her, she hates me and Ollie hates me and everyone hates me and that’s okay, I don’t care!”</p><p>“It’s pretty bad”, she hisses in the phone before she hands it to Connor.</p><p>“Connor? Here’s Laurel, I... Michaela is right, you know that I didn’t mean it, I’m just upset and sad and angry... and honestly, I shouldn’t have said it and I’m sorry but can you please just pull yourself together? We’ve a case to win and otherwise we all might-“ “I don’t care if we all go to jail, maybe that’s exactly what we all should do, I just...I don’t... care about the case, ok?! Just leave me alone, all of you!”, he screams.</p><p>“Leave me alone, Laurel!”</p><p>Not until he sees the screen broken and hears Michaela screaming at him he realises that he’s done something. Something wrong? “Are you crazy?! You just destroyed my mobile phone!” Her voice sounds so far away. That’s good. That’s better now, he feels so much better. Far away. </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When he wakes up he feels horrible and alone, his whole body in pain. For a second he doesn’t know where he is. And where Oliver is. “</p><p>How are you feeling?”, Michaela asks as he enters the kitchen.</p><p>“Better than ever”, he replies sarcastically. For a second she seems insecure, as if she didn’t know how to react, walking on eggshells. He’s never seen her like that before, not the self-confident woman, always a Plan B to Z, always knowing exactly what to do next.</p><p>“Drink”, she finally requests and hands him a glass of water. “I am really sorry for what I said yesterday... Seeing you like that just reminded me of certain things I have always been trying to escape, you now?” She smiles sadly. “Nevertheless I shouldn’t have said that and I shouldn’t have let you down. I want you to know that you can always come to me, okay? I’ll be there if you need me... Connor, honestly, I am worrying about you, we all are”, she admits watching him until he eventually takes a slow sip. Just then he realises how dry his mouth feels, dry and burning like the rest of his body.</p><p>He can see the concern in her eyes but can’t suppress a bitter laughter escaping his mouth.</p><p>“No worries, I won’t go to the police, I will rather do a good thing and kill myself”, he reassures her with a fake smile. “Don’t say that! Do you remember that Laurel tried to talk to you yesterday? Before you...” “This is not because of what Laurel said”, he snaps at her.</p><p>Why does everyone want to talk? They can keep their mouth shut about a murder but as soon as it comes to the things he screwed up they want to talk? God, he shouldn’t have come here in the first place. But he has nowhere else to go, has he?</p><p>“Then tell me what it is about. What happened? What happened between you and Oliver?”</p><p>Oliver. Only the mention of his name is enough to make him feel sick. He ruined it. He thought he didn’t care, that it was just a question of time until Oliver would finally throw him out. That’s what he was expecting the whole time but now... Now there are just regrets and sadness. He ruined it. He ruined it, he lost him. He lost Oliver.</p><p>He shouldn’t be surprised. It was a question of time. But it hurts so much, too much, more than his aching body.</p><p>“We... he ... broke up... It was my fault.” Of course it was. It is always his fault. He’s the one making a mess, hurting others.</p><p>“Is it because of the pills? Yesterday wasn’t the first time, right?” So now everyone knows. Great. Fantastic. “You... yesterday you said it was the other way round", Michaela explains. "Took me some time to understand. You didn’t take drugs because the both of you had a fight, right? You had a fight because you took them.” Now he feels really really sick.</p><p> </p><p>“He still needs to know that you are alright”, she continues. “We should call him as soon as Asher’s phone battery is finally charged because apparently” – she sounds slightly annoyed again – “it has been off the whole evening without him realising it. Until I took his phone - because mine is apparently broken thanks to you – so I took his phone while Mr. is still asleep to call Oliver and tell-“ “No one is going to call Oliver, it’s over, he probably doesn’t even care!” “Connor”, she tries to grab his hand but he moves back.</p><p>“He’s probably been up all night worrying if you’re ok. If you OD’ed.”</p><p>He doesn’t want to listen to her nor to look at her.</p><p>“I’d like to take a shower if that’s okay”, he just says quietly. It hurts so, so much and he wants it to stop. She nods silently, biting her tongue as if she is not sure whether or not to say something. “I’ve thrown them away if that’s what you want to do”, she finally says as he is already grabbing his bag in which he’d just thrown some fresh clothes yesterday. “What?!” Panic, he can feel panic and anger rising. “I’ve thrown them away. There are no pills left.” “</p><p>Are you kidding me?! You had no right to do this!”</p><p>“Connor, please-“ “Morning guys!”</p><p>Both of them freeze as Asher enters the kitchen.</p><p>“Hey honey, have you seen my mobile phone?”</p><p>Instead of a reply, Michaela rolls her eyes. “Why don’t you just go and get us some breakfast.” She puts up a smile and gives him a short kiss.</p><p>“Uhm... sure... anything specific you want?”</p><p>“No, just get us something, ok?”</p><p>She raises her eyebrows and stares at him until he finally seems to understand a non-verbal messageConnor can't read. She waits until the door is slams in.</p><p>“Why are you doing this?” Even he himself doesn’t know what exactly the question refers to. The fact that she threw away his pills? Let him stay? Didn’t tell Asher that this wasn’t just a one time thing?</p><p>“It probably doesn’t make a difference if I tell you but... You need help, Connor.” “I’m fine!”, he shouts louder than he wants to. “Do you really believe that?” “Listen, I don’t want to talk about it all now. My head is aching” – not only his head actually “so can you please shut up?!”</p><p>“Finally!”, Michaela says, completely ignoring him. “The mobile phone”, she explains a she sees the confusion in his face.</p><p>“Oh my god.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Why does he even ask, he could just leave. Take the money that’s left. Contact his dealer. Easy.</p><p>“Oliver has called Asher quite a few times.”</p><p>Contact his dealer. Leave. Other way round. Concentrate, Connor.</p><p>“Where’s my mobile phone?”</p><p>“On the table, it was locked, so I couldn’t...”</p><p>“I’ll send him a message.”</p><p>Liar.</p><p>Liarliarliar.</p><p>He ignores the messages popping up and opens the chat.</p><p>Circle.</p><p>No, actually he skipped the “promising” part this time, caught in a bubble of breaking promises already broken, disappointing people already disappointed.</p><p>N<em>eed a refill. Ex-Bf found them.</em></p><p>Ex.</p><p>“Okay, sent him a message.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Of course I did.”</p><p>“Because Oliver just sent another one.” Now he’s the one annoyed. Can’t they all just leave him alone?! “He’s probably reading my message right now. See, everything’s going to be fine.”</p><p>Oh god, he hates this sentence and still he uses it all of the time. “Where are you going?”, she asks as she sees him grabbing his jacket.</p><p>“Home.”</p><p>Liarliarliar.</p><p>“Do you really think I am that stupid, Connor?”</p><p><em>12:30?</em> He wants to answer immediately without even checking the exact time, but now <em>his</em> phone just switches off. Low battery. Great. Doesn’t matter, 12:30. He’ll probably be there anyway, right? He just has to be there, he just really really needs to be there.</p><p>“Connor, you aren’t going anywhere.” “</p><p>I told you, I’m fine. I’ve messaged Oliver, so can you all just please leave me alone?”</p><p>“What time is it?”, he speaks the only thought in his head out loud to fill the silence. “Now my battery is too low”, he adds as he feels her eyes on him, worried and slightly confused. “Twenty minutes past ten.”</p><p>Not even 10:30. Why is it so bloody early?! Two hours, to hours are way too long.</p><p>“Connor, listen to me. I can’t force you to seek help, professional help unless you want to. But at least let us help you. Talk to Oliver.”</p><p>“That’s what I just did.”</p><p>“No you didn’t.” Are his actions so predictable? “Listen”, she insists.</p><p>He could just leave now. Just go. But two hours is a really long time. “I guess there are even more on your mobile phone even though you are ignoring them right now.” She hands him Asher’s phone and plays a voice mail Oliver has left.</p><p>“<em>Hey, Asher, Oliver here... I’ve tried to call Michaela but it just goes to voicemail... same with Connor’s, I... is he at yours? I... I’d come by but if he’s there he might be really upset... and ... can you just call me back if you see him? Thanks.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Asher, it’s me again. Please tell me that Connor is with you and that he’s fine.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I know, I know that’s the third voicemail and it’s getting really late so you are probably asleep which is also why I don’t want to come by but... Please, can you or Michaela try to call Connor if he isn’t at yours? I... I am really really worried. We had a fight and I told him to leave and now-“</em>
</p><p>“<em>I am sorry. I am really sorry, my phone switched off: Just tell him I love him, will you do that? If you see him? And call me, please. I just need to know that he is okay.” </em></p><p>“I <em>told</em> you he has probably been up all night worrying about you.”</p><p>“Don’t”, he says sharply. Oliver sounds so hurt. So desperate, worried, almost panicking.</p><p>The worst thing is that Connor still <em>remembers.</em> Most of the memories of yesterday evening are cloudy, foggy, blurry. Just fragments of words and moments. That’s usually quite nice: Not only do the pills let him forget for a while, they also don’t leave any new memory.</p><p>At least they don’t leave more than fragments of the part of the evening <em>after</em> he left their apartment. Oliver’s apartment. He stopped to buy new stuff on the way, swallowed the small pills without even checking what exactly he’d been given before knocking on Michaela’s door. Everything after that is blurred. But even though he’d already taken one before – which is why they had a fight in the first place – he remembers their argument well enough. Remembers what he said. How he hurt Oliver. And the worst thing: That most of the things he said might have been true.</p><p>But that doesn't matter right now. Because he hurt him. He really screwed up and he really hurt Oliver.</p><p>Damn it.</p><p>“Do you want to call him?” Michaela’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “You can use Asher’s phone”, she adds and smiles at him reassuringly.</p><p>He hesitates a second but Oliver’s words echo in his head. <em>Tell him I love him. Please tell me that Connor is with you and that he’s fine.</em> Desperate.</p><p>“Do you want me to stay or shall I rather ...”, she asks when he takes the phone.</p><p>“I’ll go to the bedroom”, he says quietly and drops his jacket on the floor.</p><p>Defeated. Defeated and exhausted.</p><p>“Can I use your charging cable as well?”, he asks.</p><p>“Sure”, she answers with a small smile. “You can just leave your phone here for a second, I’ll plug it in.”</p><p>He nods, unable to say anything else. It would be so much easier without his body aching. It would be so much easier if only she had left him the pills, one at least. For a moment he stares at the phone in his hands before dials the number. Not even a second until Oliver picks up, as if he’s been waiting next to his phone the whole time. His voice fails him.</p><p>“Something has happened, right?” Oliver sounds paralysed. “Something bad has happened which is why you didn’t answer the phone, isn’t it? Is he... Asher, just... tell me he isn’t-“ “It’s me”, he interrupts before Oliver can add an adjective that might hurt him even more than he already is.</p><p>Silence. Almost silence, at least. He can hear Oliver breathing.</p><p>“My battery is empty”, he adds quietly. “Are you still there?” Of course he is, his breath is still audible.</p><p>“Yes, yes don’t hang up, please... I just... God I thought... I thought you might... Are you okay?”</p><p>Now <em>he’s</em> the one who doesn’t answer, because there is no right answer to that question. He might either lie again and he doesn’t want to do this to Oliver again. Or he can tell the truth and worry him even more.</p><p>“Got a light headache.” That’s not actually a lie, just a euphemism. “So you are...” “Sober?” “Yes.” “Michaela threw them away.”</p><p>Great. Oliver’s voice has distracted him for a while and now... Now there is this thought again in his head. The <em>need</em>. “I should go, Michaela is probably-“ “Come home, please.” “Ollie, don’t...” “Connor, please, we should talk. I can come to Michaela’s if you don’t want to come back here. Or I could pick you up...“</p><p>Two hours.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk. I’m<em> fine</em>, Oliver.”</p><p>“You never want to talk.” True.</p><p>“And both of us know that you aren’t fine. And it’s okay that you aren’t.”</p><p>“I’m sorry for what I said.” He doesn’t know why he suddenly says that, probably it's been on his mind the whole time. “I’m so sorry.” For disappointing you. For taking them. For everything.</p><p>“I’ll come and pick you up, okay. Just stay at Michaela’s.” He doesn’t fight back.</p><p>Defeated. Exhausted.</p><p>Maybe he hasn’t destroyed everything at last, if there was anything to destroy at all. But he is doing it again. They are just caught up in the circle and it needs to stop. It finally has to stop but he doesn’t know what to do. He needs Oliver just as he needs a refill. And he keeps on hurting him again and again and again. That’s not love. It really isn’t. Maybe he should just<em> go.</em> That was his plan in the first place, wasn’t it? He’d been to weak so he decided for an easier way. No one would know that it was on purpose. An accident. He’s probably been up all night worrying if you’re ok. If you OD’ed. Oliver could move on, right? But it would case him more pain, more pain than ever before...</p><p>And he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t know what to do. He has never felt so helpless, so trapped before.</p><p>“Oliver?” “Yes?” He hesitates for a second. “I’m not feeling well. I am really not feeling okay at all, Ollie”, he admits. There’s a moment of silence before Oliver replies, obviously failing at trying to hide his worries. “I’ll be there, okay? Just stay where you are, I’ll be there in a minute.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ok so things might be a little bit complicated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>No chapter tmr, but a rather long one today. FINALLY they talk, which doesn't make it any better tbh but rather more messed up. Well, they don't really have a conversation, it's rather a Connor-monologue.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m glad you called me”, Oliver says quietly as soon as the passenger door is closed.</p><p>“You were right”, only three words, three words he barely uses.</p><p>“With what?” He feels Oliver staring at him.</p><p>“We... we should talk.”</p><p>“Oh... okay...?” His boyfriend/ ex-boyfriend/ whatever can’t hide the surprise in his voice. “Shall we go back home first or-“</p><p>“I’d like to say something before I change my mind or do something stupid.”</p><p>“Okay, sure”, Oliver replies and switches the engine off.</p><p>Connor hesitates. And his head still hurts so much and why is it so fucking sunny today, the light is way too bright.</p><p>“I... I already told you that I am sorry for what I said yesterday... “Which part of it?” “The one about you trying to fix me, and that this has never been love...” “At least you remember this time.” Oliver must have seen the expression on his face because he immediately apologises for what he just said.</p><p>“I’m... I am sorry that I said that to hurt you. And I am sorry for how I said it. But... But maybe it’s true. I think it is true.” Saying it out loud makes him realise that he’s been thinking about it for quite a while now. Ever since Oliver broke up. Makes him realise that it <em>is </em>true. He nods reassuringly before he continues. “I don’t think this is a healthy relationship. I’m not an expert of course... but.... It’s not love, is it? It’s not healthy and it has never really been.”</p><p>“Connor what are you-“ “Please, Ollie, please just... listen, okay? I’ve been thinking about it for some time now.” “You aren’t feeling good, so you try to push people away who want to help you! That’s the only thing going on right now!” “Oliver, please..."  “I’m sorry.”</p><p>It’s really hard to concentrate, to choose the right words. Being sober makes it even harder. </p><p>“I... I used you. I’ve been using you since the very first time we met. First for work and later for sex and ... after the bonfire because there wasn’t really anyone else. Except for Gemma, who lives far a way and has her own life. So I just used you to console me. And I’ve been doing exactly the same ever since, I <em>use </em>you when I made a mess. When I <em>am </em>a mess. But that’s not love, that’s just ... <em>toxic.</em>” “Con-“ “For Christ’s sake, let me finish!”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“And probably I got attracted to you...because you used to be exactly what I want to be myself.” Oliver just laughs in disbelief. “I’m serious. Someone nice and gentle and honest and <em>good. </em>A <em>boring </em>life, that’s what I wanted. That’s what I want. And I assume it was the other way round as well. I don’t want to sound mean but I think it was the fact that I am... Self-confident and” -  he shrugs with a smile, almost like his usual smirk – “handsome and charming.” He looks away and catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror.  Immediately the little smile on his lips disappers. “Was. Used to be”, he corrects himself with a bitter smile. “Because I used to be fun and charming and quite attractive. But both of us aren't who we used to be anymore. I... well, I’m a mess and you... Sometimes I think you stay with me because it’s <em>exciting </em>for you. The crimes, the thrill of doing something <em>illegal. </em>Which is my fault. Well maybe that’s what caught your interest in the first place, in addition to the sex and the things I’ve already mentioned. Which is why I could persuade you to do all that illegal stuff for Annalise...”</p><p>He hesitates again, saying it is different from thinking. “Sometimes I think that’s why you are still here. Because you like the thrill. And belonging to a group, doing all this stuff for Annalise.” Again, he just shrugs, as if it wasn’t painful to admit it. “I think I am slowly realising that you aren’t that person you used to be anymore. And that is my fault. But maybe you have never been that person I used to see in you at all? Maybe I just loved the idea of you, just as you loved the idea of me. But that’s a lie. Our whole relationship is based on a lie. On lies.”</p><p>11:06. More than an hour left.</p><p>“Other times I think you are afraid that no one else might want you because you’re pos. Which is my fault again.”</p><p>He’s ruined Oliver. He ruined him in so many ways.</p><p>“Yeah, maybe that’s why you stay", he speaks his thoughs out loud. "I feel the same, you know. I mean... no one else would stay with me. I’m pretty good for a one night stand, but that’s it.”</p><p>Oliver doesn’t interrupt him anymore. Maybe he thinks the same? Maybe Connor is right? He really doesn't want to be right, even though he probably is.</p><p>“Sometimes I think that you just feel guilty for deleting my Stanford invitation... I don’t know... Other times I think you want to save me, just like I said yesterday. That you want me to become ... better, want to repair me. Even more since you know everything about Sam. Sadly you can’t fix me though. You can’t repair me, no one can.  But for some reason you still want to. Vice versa, just like I might use you to hold on to that thought that I might become a better person, become <em>good.</em> I don’t know... Maybe we are using each other? Maybe it's just a mixture of all these things? I don’t know... I don’t know why we still hold on to the idea that we could fix this. That there is anything to fix. Because it pretty much seems to have been a toxic relationship from the very beginning. Call it dependence or whatever, an unhealthy and toxic and painful relationship. But not <em>love.</em>”</p><p>Silence.</p><p>A salty taste on his lips. He’s crying. 11:11. “So tell me, Oliver, why ... why are you still here?! Why are both of us still here?!” For the first time since the start of his <em>,</em>speech’ he dares to look at Oliver. His eyes are wet too, a sad glance in his eyes. He looks as if something has just died inside while Connor – despite desperately wishing to feel dead and numb – just feels even more miserable and sad and depressed and helpless.</p><p> “Please just say something, anything!” “What does that mean”, his voice breaks. “I don’t know, Ollie. I really don’t know. Maybe we should just...”</p><p>“Connor, now please listen to me, okay? Maybe... a lot of what you just said ... God... Maybe some of it is true, okay?” Exactly what he wanted Oliver to admit while at the same time - paradoxically - hoping that Oliver would disagree. That Connor was just wrong.</p><p>He starts rubbing his temples. He just can’t do this much longer.</p><p>“There have been and there still are so many things that are just... as you said... unhealthy and <em>toxi</em>c<em>, </em>but do you really think that’s everything? Because I don't think so, but tell me, Connor, do you think there isn't anything else that connects us?”</p><p>He likes his smile, though he hasn’t seen it in a while. The excitement in his voice, when he talks about some IT stuff Connor doesn’t understand. Once, long ago, he told him he didn’t care about all that IT stuff. But he did when it was Oliver talking about it. Suddenly boring IT stuff became the most exciting thing in the world.</p><p>One of the first things he really liked, even before the murders...</p><p>Before the murder. Before the bonfire.</p><p>He didn’t have to bring him take-away dinner, back then, before the murder, before everything got so screwed up. But he did. What if he didn’t use him for work, not at the end, but work, work and sex for being close to him? Christ, he even bought <em>flowers</em>.</p><p>No that’s ridiculous. They've changed way too much. </p><p>But Oliver is still good. Better than so many people. Kind and gentle and honest, most of the time at least. A bit of a criminal, but still kind and gentle. Understanding, willing to forgive not only Connor but everyone in general.</p><p>And Connor is ruining what’s left of it, what's left of <em>him, </em>doesn’t he?!</p><p>God, he likes how he sings Disney songs under the shower or hums the melody when he thinks that no one to listen. His singing voice. How Oliver, that insecure and quiet man, turns up the volume, when the radio plays a song he likes, and sings along loudly, both slightly embarrassed and clearly having fun. The funny way he dances, forgetting everything around him. His laughter. </p><p>He likes the fact that they can just spend their whole day watching films or playing video days. Or just sit next to each other for hours without saying a word. Saying a word. He likes his voice a lot, how he thinks about his words before he says something. Damn it, he even loves how he always wants to talk about everything. How he can listen.</p><p>Of course he likes the kisses and sex as well, he <em>loves </em>the sex, it’s probably the best he had in his life. But is it just because of the sex itself or because there is more?</p><p>The little line on his head, when he’s trying to concentrate. Even his glasses. Well the suits are damn hot,bBut Oliver sitting on the bed, legs crossed, a laptop in his hands, with his grey tee and the little line between his eyebrows... That's enough.</p><p>The fact how much he is not only obsessed with sun sets but mornings in general, always the early bird waiting in the kitchen with a cup of tea or coffee in his hands.</p><p>Everything. The indescribable feeling, a feeling he’d never felt before he met Oliver.</p><p>Well, maybe that’s not love at all. Maybe that’s just the need. Because he might not love Oliver but he surely <em>needs </em>him.</p><p>“I don’t know, yeah, maybe that’s everything”, he says sadly, answering the question after a moment of silence. “Then why did you call me? Why do you always come to me?” “Because I <em>need </em>you, Oliver, that’s what I just said! I <em>need </em>you so I use you until I feel better again, and you feel better for helping me again and again and again but this needs to stop!”</p><p>“I just... I need a second... that’s just a lot...”, Oliver replies, slightly shaking his head. Opening the car door, he hesitates for a second and looks at Connor clearly concerned and hurt at the same time. “Promise me you won’t leave the car as soon as I turn around.” “Why are you asking that?!”</p><p>Because he doesn’t trust him.</p><p>As he said. A ,relationship’ based on lies, not on love.</p><p>“You’ve been checking the time every other minute. And I really hope that I am wrong but I just assume that you want to meet... that you want to buy new stuff.”</p><p>As he said. Oliver staying because Connor messed up again, because he needs someone to save him. Alcohol. Sex. Drugs, Oilver’s little list of Connor’s ,addictions’ – although he surely isn’t really addicted.. they are nothing in comparism to his desperate need of Oliver.</p><p>“I can’t promise anything”, he says quietly. So so tired. Exhausted. So screwed up. “But I’m trying”, he adds. And he really is. He is trying not to lie. He is trying to stop.</p><p>But it’s the only way out, right? He can’t stay with Ollie, but without him... Damn it, there is no where to go, there is no where to stay. There is no <em>one.</em> It just needs to end. It just needs to end. He just needs to end it. Why is he such a bloody coward? Why did he tell Oliver that he wasn’t in a good place? He knew that Oliver would be worried, that he would try to help him, to save him, that they’d be caught up in their toxic whatever it is again. Why didn’t he just leave Michaela’s flat, why didn’t he just <em>go</em>?</p><p>Well he still can.</p><p>Except... it would hurt Ollie. A dilemma, a hopeless situation: Staying and hurting Oliver again and again or leaving and hurting Oliver so much that he will probably always blame himself for not having saved Connor from himself. Toxic. </p><p>He watches Oliver nodding slightly, opening the door and leaving the car. He looks lost, lost and helpless, exactly how Connor feels. Connor watches every move, how Oliver slightly shakes his head, then buries his head in his hand for a second, then takes a deep breath, paces up and down as if he’s just remembered how to move his body, just to freeze again a moment later.</p><p>11:18. It takes about half an hour, maybe less if he hurries. Too much time left.</p><p>“I don’t know what to do, Connor”, he admits even before closing the door again. “I... I don’t know what you want me to do”, he adds. His eyes are focused on the street in front of him. Or not on the street but on some distant point.</p><p>“Maybe Laurel’s right.” Did he just say that out loud? Great.  He shouldn't have said that, even though he could argue that he's just kidding. He shouldn't have said that; again he’s manipulating Oliver not to leave him. A circle. It never ends.</p><p>“You really think she is, right?! That’s why you said you’re not feeling okay. Because a part of you really thinks...” The sentence stays unfinished, the words hanging in the air. “Con, you need help”, his voice sounds so unbearably sad. “And I think you know that, too, even though you don’t want to admit it. But that’s why you called me, because you are drowning and you know that.” It’s not a question.</p><p>“Connor, look at me.” What’s harder? Seeing the pain in Oliver’s face or knowing that he’s seen as well, in that condition?</p><p>Suddenly he can’t breathe anymore. Drowning, just as Oliver said. He needs to breathe. He can’t. Breath. “Connor, look at me, look at me.” Drowning. His heart. So fast. Pounding pounding pounding so fast.</p><p>And then it’s gone. He’s not in the car anymore but on the floor, leaning against it. How did he get here? Why is Oliver right here, next to him, his hand on one of his shoulders? “Good, everything’s okay, just breathe. Good, here we go.”</p><p>Breathe, he can breathe again.</p><p>Oliver is so close. He could kiss him. So close. Just a small move to feel his soft lips, the warmth of his body.</p><p>But he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t, it’s not right, it’s not love. “I <em>am </em>drowning, Ollie”, he eventually whispers, having caught his breath again. “I screwed up and I am drowning, I am... I am...” “I know, Con, it’s okay. It’s okay to get help... And if you don’t want <em>me </em>to be that person right now, that’s okay, too. We can find you professional help, okay? A therapist and... a rehab program-“ “I am not addicted. I don’t have a –“ He can’t finish the sentence, the memory is haunting him. <em>I have a drug problem, Oliver. </em>It was so much easier to say it when it was just a lie.</p><p>“I don’t ... don’t want it to be in my medical records... they could use it against me at court...”, he mumbles. They both know that he will neither be any help for the recent case, for finding Wes’ real murderer, nor will ever be a lawyer at all if he doesn't stop destroying himself. Gladly Oliver doesn’t say anything about it.</p><p>“Then let me help you. I don’t care if it might be unhealthy, just let us... get through this. Through all this mess about Wes and through everything else. Let me be there for you, just one more time.” A small laughter escapes his mouth, sad and bitter. “What’s so funny?” “<em>Just one more time</em>. That’s what I keep telling myself.” Just one more lie, once more hurting Oliver.</p><p>Just one more pill.</p><p>Okay, maybe he has a problem.</p><p>“Okay, not me, I got it. As I said, that’s perfectly fine. What about your sister?”</p><p>“As I said: My sister has her own life.” “She loves you, Connor.” “She has a son. She can’t...they shouldn’t see me like that.” He looks away, knees bent and arms wrapped around them as if it could comfort him.</p><p>“Then what about Michaela?” “No.” “Why not, she-“ “I don’t want to be the constant reminder of the past she’s trying to escape from.”</p><p>No one else left. You can count the people in his life on one hand. Pathetic.</p><p>“I could call Annalise-“ “Don’t you dare.”</p><p>“Then tell me what you want. Let someone help you, anyone. You can’t expect us watching you...”</p><p>“Killing myself?”</p><p>“Connor, please...”</p><p>“Sorry.”</p><p>“Look at me.”</p><p>He can’t. What time is it?</p><p>“I’m here for you. We all are. If you let me I’ll do everything to help you. Not as your boyfriend... not until we have figured that all out. Not as your ex. Just as a friend... or if that’s too much than... let’s say your flatmate. At least you’d be at a safe space. Let me be there for you as your flatmate, who really cares about you.”</p><p>“My <em>flatmate</em>?” A little smile escapes, just for a second. “We can’t keep doing this, Oliver", he then realises, his smile disappearing immediately. "You... trying to fix me and me using you for comfort? That’s...” “We can figure it all out, okay? Step by step, day by day. We’ll see if there is anything else, alright? But – I know I keep repeating my self – you need... help. ”</p><p>There's a long silence.</p><p>Drowning.</p><p>He's drowning.</p><p>“I’d really like to go home, Oliver”, he finally whispers defeated. “I’m sorry for asking you that... I am so sorry for everything...” “Let’s bring you home”, the other man replies and gets up. As he reaches out his hand to help him up, Connor doesn’t refuse, even though he wants... needs... needed to be there at 12:30.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Re-watching some episodes (Season 3 and 4) I suddenly started questioning Oliver's and Connor's relationship and even re-watched how it started back in S01. Don't get me wrong, I am a HUGE Coliver fan, I basically just keep on watching the series because of their relationship. But I am wondering, if a lot of what they said to each other is true. E.g. Oliver when he broke up and said that Connor was damaged and their relationship toxic, or later SPOILER in season 6 when Connor tells Ollie that he doesn't love him (omg we could discuss that sentence so much) and everything's based on trauma and lies. I think that's a big issue actually. Furthermore you can see that they are kind of switching roles in season 3/4? Oliver getting more and more involved in all that illegal stuff and mess about Laurel's dad and Wes, while Connor really just wants to be what he isn#t and what he might have seen in Ollie when they first met: A normal, boring life. (BTW: Is there any reason why his look, like his hair and everything, changes so much in season 4? It's basically "Oliver"-Style???) </p><p>I think there is a very thin line between "love" and "dependence/ toxic relationship" esp. in season 4, though I am convinced that at the end they really love each other, despite all the trauma they've been through, despite how much both of them have changed. What do you think?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Withdrawal Part 1.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Me: No chapter tmr. Also me: ... <br/>Your comments are so motivating, thank u so much! Lockdown just got extended and it's pretty hard to work on essays if the libraries are closed, like how?! </p><p>Anyway, I am trying something new, just wanted some HTGAWM vibes, hope u like it. Of course reading and watching things work in very different ways but when it comes to the basics it's both playing with expectations/ knowing and not knowing things.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong>Sunday, 2:57 am.  </strong><strong>“</strong>He’s dead! He... he died and I...I couldn’t do anything...” “Wait, hey... calm down. What” “He is <em>dead</em>!” “Listen, tell me – hello? Are you still there?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>10 hours Earlier – Saturday.</strong>
</p><p>“I brought you some food. Well, I didn’t have time to cook something so I bought it. If he doesn’t want to eat, you can have it” Michaela says in a low voice while she takes off her jacket and puts her bag and a Tupperware container on the counter.</p><p>“How is he?”, she adds with a concerned look in her big eyes. “I... guess he’s doing well so far.” Oliver sighs and shakes his head. “Actually, he’s a mess. Either staying in bed for hours or pacing back and forth through the flat as if he’s going crazy, freezing and shaking almost the whole time. Yesterday was pretty bad. And he’d hate me if he knew that I told you.” Oliver forces himself to smile. Mirrors. They are mirroring each other: Michaela’s concern mirroring his own, his fake smile mirroring hers.</p><p>“He’d hate me more if he knew that I finally had to tell Annalise.”</p><p>“What did she say?”</p><p>“She wasn’t surprised, actually. But she wants to talk to you.” “About the case or about Connor?”</p><p>“Both, I guess. But who knows, it’s Annalise. Pretty sure she’s known what’s going on the whole time, I mean, while we... God, I blame myself for being so blind. But I just thought it’s the stress and Wes’ death... I should’ve seen that he was using...”</p><p>“Michaela. It’s not your fault. If anyone should’ve seen it, it’s me... Sometimes he’d relapse after a couple of hours, sometimes a day or two. Or maybe he didn’t stop at all and I was just too blind to see it. But still I think that he was trying... Or that’s what I wanted to believe. But I don’t know... I... I think every time I thought he’d finally managed to quit, he just became better and better at covering up.” It makes him feel sick. He should’ve seen it. Instead he chose to believe in promises Connor couldn’t keep.</p><p>“Don’t blame yourself, Ollie”, she says softly.</p><p>“The thing is... I really want to trust him. I really want to, and I know that he’s doing great. He hasn’t stayed sober for so many days in a row ever since... since he started, I guess. But with every day ... my expectations, my fear rises. That he might relapse.”</p><p>Without hesitating, Michaela gives him his hug, holding him in her arms. “He’s doing great, Oliver. We can’t imagine how he feels, how hard it is”, she says before she steps back again. “I mean, cold turkey? That’s crazy.” “I know... I know. But I am so scared that I wake up in the morning or at night, and that I check on him and don’t find him in the bedroom-“ “Wait, you two aren’t...?”</p><p>It’s not even a real question and it doesn’t need an answer. Talking with someone makes it easier though.</p><p>“I don’t know what we are right now... Or if we will ever be back together.... He... That day when I picked him up at yours, he said a lot of things, you know?”</p><p>“That were just the drugs speaking.”</p><p>“No, I don’t think so. He was sober and really serious. And he told me he doesn’t know if what we have... what we had has ever been love.” “Oh, Oliver, he loves you-“ “Does he? I don’t know. <em>He </em>doesn’t know. And I think he’s right about so many things. That it’s all based on trauma and lies. And that we were attracted to each other because we idealized, wanted to be like each other and that we kept up that idea we had of each other, even though we both have changed. And he’s so right about it. We’ve changed. I have changed, I’ve become someone who lies and gets involved in all that illegal shit... And he... he is haunted by so many demons!” Oliver shakes his head as if to get rid of all these thoughts. “He said a lot of such things...  That we just stay because we are afraid no one else would ever stay with us... And so much more. And... I’ve said the same when I broke up with him. That it’s <em>toxic</em>.” Michaela looks at him in shock but stays quiet.</p><p>“What if I just planted that idea in his head? Or even worse: What if he <em>is </em>right? What if that isn’t love? What if it has never been?”</p><p>There’s so much sadness in Michaela’s eyes but she doesn’t say anything for a minute, maybe even more.</p><p> “I can’t give you an answer... nor tell you how to feel or what to do", she finally says carefully choosing every word. "But the way you look at each other? The way he used to smile when he talked about you, about the most basic things like that stupid TV shows the both of you watch or whatever? Or how he checked your social media when you first met, that’s something Connor never did before; he had such a crush on you.” “</p><p>That was a long time ago, Michaela.” “I know. But the rest isn't. As I said, the smile and the way he looks at you and you look at him seems still pretty much the same, as far as I am in the position to say that... And I know that he’s traumatised. If anyone understands its Laurel and me, okay? Nevertheless... There can be love. Though there surely is a difference between being in love because of trauma and being in love despite trauma.”</p><p>He nods, unable to say anything until suddenly can’t hold back the tears. “That night when Annalise’s house burnt down and they said they found a body... I thought it was him. When he didn’t pick up the phone, I just... I thought I’d lost him. And I am so so afraid that one night he’ll leave and... and <em>kill </em>himself, either on purpose or accidentally overdosing. I... I can’t imagine a life without him, without his stupid spontaneous ideas or his ... sarcastic or pissed comments or just says what’s on his mind without caring. Or without his jokes or the way he rolls his eyes or when he’s just daydreaming... I... I am so afraid that...” </p><p>Oliver really wants to believe, wants to trust him. And he really wishes Michaela would just reassure him that everything is going to be fine, that there is no reason to be afraid. "I am so scared, Michaela", he repeats, sobbing quietly. "Shhh, I know, I know", she tries to sooth him, while the tears are running down his creaks again. "He's doing great. He really is", she repeats. And he wants to believe it.  He really does.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Sunday, 1:24.</strong>
</p><p>"Oliver? Do you know what time it is?!" "I know, Michaela, I... I am sorry". His voice is breaking. He knew. He was expecting it the whole time but it hurts so much. "I know I shouldn't have called and I am sorry for waking you but..."  "Connor is gone", she realises. She doesn't ask. She doesn't have to ask. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>His thoughts are spinning and spinning and he can’t stop it, he can’t stop thinking, he can’t stop remembering.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>1.) The chapter is quite long for my standards, hopefully it's not tooooo boring (remember the 'he's dead', I'll come to that later.) And I know, Christmas is over, but I almost forgot about the Jingle Bells scene. </p><p>2.) As I said: Not a native speaker, not enough time for prove reading. I'm sorry if it's hard to read or not as understandable as I want it to be. Tell me if there are any huge mistakes that bother you. </p><p>3.) Massively inspired by some awesome fanfics on AO3. I think "Connor &amp; his dealer" has become a kind of topos= Which makes sense because that's what we expect, isn't it? Still I actually wanted to leave it open if they really have more than a kiss. (I think Connor would sleep with him but I don't think he necessarily has to?)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I am so scared, Michaela", he repeats, sobbing quietly. "Shhh, I know, I know", she tries to sooth him, while the tears are running down his creaks again. "He's doing great. He really is", she repeats. And he wants to believe it.  He really does.</p><p>“Please tell me I’m not the reason why you’re crying again. I told you I’m fine and that I’ll stay clean et cetera.” His sharp voice cuts the silence like a knife.</p><p>Okay. Moody, irritable, on the edge. Better or worse than when he didn’t get out of bed or begged Oliver for comfort or didn’t say anything but just cried? And does that mean that he’s slowly getting better? Yesterday he barely spoke a word not to mention leaving the bedroom, the same this morning. But no, he’s been like that before, so restless. The worst thing is that he doesn’t even look better, healthier. Rather worse, if that was even possible. His hair is a mess; the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And he’s sweating so much, paradoxically freezing the whole time.</p><p>The <em>worst</em> worst thing: there is nothing Oliver can do; just hoping that covering him with blankets and giving him fresh cloths and... just being there is enough. If only he didn’t look so miserable, in such pain, both physically and emotionally.</p><p>It breaks his heart to see him like this. He’s going through all this and Oliver doesn’t even trust him.</p><p>“What is she doing here?” Michaela and Oliver exchange glances. “Michaela... just brought some food.” “Chinese”, she adds with a smile. “I’m not hungry”, Connor states but sits down next to her, rubbing his temples. It has become a new habit, most likely due to his constant headache, which is probably far worse than he wants to admit.</p><p>“Do you want something sweet instead? I bought these”, Oliver tries and hands him a bowl with freshly cut pieces of water melon. “I thought some vitamins... and because you refuse to drink although you surely should-“ “What the hell is that?”, Connor asks before his face turns even paler than it was before. “Just some... melon”, Oliver  stutters, but he can see that it is too late. Another panic attack, hyperventilating, panic in his eyes.</p><p>“What’s wrong with him? Shall I call an ambulance?” He hears Michaela saying. But he needs to concentrate on Connor.</p><p>The first time Connor had a breakdown in front of him was awful. Oliver was so overwhelmed, scared, helpless, even though he tried his best not to show it. Meanwhile he has learnt how to react, how to stay calm, how to control his breath. Whispering affirmations without even realising what exactly he’s saying, repeating his name, asking him basic questions, trying to distract him. He knows so many different methods, he googled and tried all of them, from 5-4-3-2-1 to mathematical calculations (surprisingly the latter sometimes really works, at least as soon as he mentions to get Connor’s attention.).</p><p>He knows how to react, nevertheless his whole body is tense until he can finally see how Connor calms down, how his vision clears, his breaths become more regular. “I’m sorry”, is the first thing Connor chokes, barely having caught his breath again. “It’s alright, just keep on breathing slowly. Inhale, exhale.” It’s the only time Connor actually does what Oliver, well, what someone else tells him to do without even thinking about it.</p><p>He almost forgot about Michaela’s presence.</p><p>“Does he have these... episodes more often?”</p><p>For a second he waits for Connor to interrupt her, with one of his moody comments à la “I can hear you, no need to use the third person pronoun.” But he stays quiet, still far away in his thoughts.</p><p>“They’ve started coming more frequently”, he answers finally. “Sometimes I think that something triggers them but most of the time it just happens out of nowhere.” She nods slowly, then goes to one of the kitchen cabinets and grabs a glass to fill it with tab water.</p><p>“Here”, she offers. “I... I am capable of holding a glass of water”, he snaps as she wants to put it to his lips. There he is, pushing them away with a single sentence, even though he doesn’t sound convincing at all. Nor does he look convincing, with his whole body shaking uncontrollably. But he's still there. “Okay, I’m sorry. Of course you are.” He feels strangely connected to her, so insecure what to say or what to do, walking on eggshells.</p><p>His hands are too shaky and they all know. He can’t and he knows that he can’t but still he tries. And it hurts so much to watch him try and fail with the most basic things.</p><p>“Not thirsty”, he whispers and closes his eyes for a second. He must feel so ashamed, although he should be proud of himself.</p><p>“I should go”, Michaela says. “Thanks for the food”, Oliver replies with a little smile.</p><p>They are trying, all of them. Michaela and Oliver are trying to pretend that everything is fine, not because they need to believe it, but because Connor needs at least a tiny bit of ... normality. Michaela is trying to be there despite demons of her past only she knows about. Oliver is trying to help him, to be there for him. But most of all he’s really trying to trust him. Because Connor is trying too. He is trying harder than anybody else.</p><p>“Connor?”, he asks softly as soon as Michaela has left. “It’s okay”, he whispers and offers him the glass of water again. “Oliver, I can –“ “I know. I’m just helping a little bit, okay?” Connor tries to take the glass again, and this time Oliver closes his finger around Connor’s. Carefully he puts it to his lips and lets him take a sip, then one more. “Do you want to drink some more?” He just nods defeated. “That’s good. You need to drink.”</p><p>What is he actually talking about?! He’s neither a doctor nor a therapist. Cold turkey is crazy, that’s the first thing Michaela told him when he said that Connor insisted not to go to rehab.</p><p>“Connor, do you consider... going back to therapy?” Dangerous territory, Oliver knows what. He expects him to snap back, push him away, but all his energy is gone.</p><p>“What is the point of going to therapy when I can’t talk about the things I need a therapy for? When I can’t talk about anything that matters without going to psych ward or jail or both in that order?!” Oliver sighs and refills the glass. “You could write it down?” “Great idea, just provide more evidence.” “You could write it down and then burn everything?” Connor chokes on the water.</p><p>Drowning.  He’s already drowning and Oliver’s stupid words force his head under water.</p><p>“Oh my god, Connor, I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, I... I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...” “Can I get some more water, Ollie?” He looks at Connor in concern but doesn’t say anything else.</p><p>Vulnerable. He is so fragile and vulnerable. And Oliver can’t stop asking himself if Connor has always been vulnerable but just really good at hiding it.</p><p>*************</p><p>Flames. The smell of smoke, no, more the smell of a burning body. The sound of breaking bones. Sam’s body, so close. Next to him, it’s lying next to him. Open eyes watching him.</p><p>The lifeless body. The remains of the lifeless body. The remains of the burnt lifeless body. The smell of smoke. Flames.</p><p>His thoughts are spinning and spinning and he can’t stop it, he can’t stop thinking, he can’t stop remembering.</p><p>Jingle bells echoing in his head. He hates the song, he hates it so much.</p><p>What have they done? What has he done.</p><p>Fire. Flames. Wes. Wes lying on the floor.</p><p>
  <em>You know what you need to do right now.</em>
</p><p>He’s losing his mind. He’s losing his mind.</p><p>No. He lost it.</p><p>He lost it that night</p><p>Sam lying on the floor</p><p>Dead</p><p>Oh what fun to kill someone</p><p>Pieces of a body.</p><p>Pieces of memories.</p><p>He can’t get the memories out of his head. No matter if he’s asleep or awake, they follow him.</p><p>He needs to sleep. He’s tired. He’s so so tired. And cold, so cold. Funny, how his mind is obsessed with all these tiny little fragments, the smell, the noises, the flames and the fire and the smoke, while his body is freezing, shivering.</p><p>What have they done</p><p>He tries to sleep, but as soon as he closes his eyes there is a corpse lying on the floor. A part of him wants to run away, still he can’t, he can’t leave without knowing who it is. Sam? Paxton? Sinclair? Waitlist?</p><p>He opens his eyes immediately.</p><p>Thoughts spinning and spinning and spinning and they don’t stop, they’ll never stop. But they have to stop.</p><p>And he knows how to make it stop, at least for a while.</p><p>Pieces of broken promises.</p><p>Pieces of a relationship they won’t fix.</p><p>Maybe it is the very last time now, it has to be, just one more time. He really needs it, just one more time Once more.</p><p>Connor grabs his phone and starts a new chat; he always deletes the chat immediately, in case Oliver checks his mobile phone. Which is why he has saved the contact as “Johnny”, just in case. Actually his dealer has a name that sounds quite similar. Funny. Was it Joe? Jonas? Doesn’t matter, nothing matters, except finding a way to forget, to stop feeling and thinking. It’s an emergency. He stares at the screen until the message is marked as read, then until Joe/ Jonas/ “Johnny” starts typing. Instead of a time he sends him an address. Why not their usual place? Oh, it’s quite late. Doesn’t matter.</p><p>He hesitates at the apartment door and looks at Oliver, sleeping on the couch, covered with blankets and silently snorting. Of course he insisted that Connor took the bed and he the sofa.</p><p>Flames. Smoke. Bodies. He just can’t get it out of his head, he just <em>needs </em>to. He needs <em>it. </em>There is no choice or decision, it is simply necessary. An emergency.</p><p>****************</p><p>People are dancing and drinking. He’s been to so many clubs, so many parties. Laughing and dancing with Oliver. He’s been to Christmas parties, talking with Gemma and playing with his niece and his nephew. Listening to Jingle Bells and all these stupid jolly Christmas songs.</p><p>Jingle Bells Damn, it still echoes in his head.</p><p>Wes’ birthday party. The surprise party.</p><p>That time when Annalise bought champagne for the whole class.</p><p>And he told Oliver</p><p>He told him.</p><p>And then there was <em>that</em> party. The one he can’t get out of his head, one memory, a tiny moment, again and again. The bonfire, all the other people around them, having fun, celebrating, while they were taking these bloody alibi-selfies.</p><p>
  <em>Smile or go to jail.</em>
</p><p>“Hey, Walsh!” Smile.</p><p>He tries to stop his body from shaking. Why can’t it just stop shaking, for Christ’s sake. God, he really needs it, he really does. “Hey, J.” Better stick to the first letter. “Didn’t expect to see you again. Thought you’d quit.” He just shrugs. Suddenly he feels really, really sick. He should go home. Before Oliver realises that he left. He can still fix it.</p><p>He can’t though. He can’t fix anything and that’s why he can’t leave. If only the music weren’t that loud, the room not so crowded, and who’s party is it? Who’s house?</p><p>Doesn’t matter.</p><p>“Well, I’m glad that you haven’t. It’s always nice to see your pretty face.” A simple sentence, just a smile and he feels safe. Not because he actually trusts Joe – pretty sure it is Joe – but because he trusts his own reactions. He is safe, he knows what to do. Well-known territory.</p><p>
  <em>See, you can’t even remember. You’re a slut.</em>
</p><p>“Want a drink?” Just a smirk and the money he’s stolen from Oliver’s purse. It’s easy. He knows exactly what to do and how to get what he wants. Or rather what he needs. Doesn’t even have to think about it, doesn’t have to think at all, instinctive behaviour.</p><p>He doesn’t feel anything when Joe presses his lips against it, it’s just part of the game. Then, he grabs his hand, or rather secretly puts something in his hand. Relief. Relief and shame. “You should go upstairs.” Relief and shame and the overwhelming fear that his shaky hands might drop the pills. “Wait, I’ll show you where.” He just follows. It’s like dancing, basically. He’s always thought he was the leader. But honestly? He’s just good at following. Following orders. Annalise’s plans. Wes’ plan.  Sometimes he’s quite good at reacting. And so he follows him upstairs, barely realising all these strangers around him, dancing, laughing, kissing, drinking. Drinking.</p><p>“Don’t drop it”,  Joe says and hands him a glass.</p><p>
  <em>Oliver, I can.. I know. I’m just helping a little bit, okay?</em>
</p><p>He swallows the pills with a mouthful of the drink he’s been offered.</p><p>What is he doing? What the fuck is he doing?</p><p>***************</p><p>"I know I shouldn't have called and I am sorry for waking you but..."  "Connor is gone", she realises. She doesn't ask. She doesn't have to ask.</p><p>“I... I’ve already tried to call him ... He... He’ll probably come back sooner or later. He always does... So... so I should just wait here... And then we’ll fight and he’ll apologise and I’ll forgive him, right? That’s what we always do. He’ll be fine.” It’s not Michaela he’s trying to convince. “I’ll be there in a minute”, she simply replies.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am sorry that the story has become way too long and way too dark. It will become even longer because it's my fave way of procrastinating and dealing with Lockdown 3. However I can at least promise that it will become a little bit better in the last chapters but first of all you have to see Oliver suffering. I'm sorry.</p><p>Time jump. There will be some more in the next chapter but not too many.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Monday</strong>
</p><p>“I shouldn’t have left him there, I ... I should have forced him to go to rehab or... back home...” His sobs interrupt his words.</p><p>“There was not much you could do. Believe me, I’ve been on the other side. You couldn’t help him.”</p><p>Annalise looks at him in that certain way which makes her words sound believable, no matter what she says.</p><p>“But I... I blamed him. Even though I know that... that he didn’t relapse on purpose. It’s not his fault, it’s an illness and that’s what I should have told him. Not that he’s... that he’s like a hurricane destroying everyone around him.”</p><p>An amused smile appears on her red-lipstick lips.</p><p>“You really compared Connor Walsh to a hurricane?”, she asks with a raised eyebrow. “No, I compared addiction to a hurricane. The point is: I gave up. I left him when he needed me the most.” “You can't just stay because someone needs you. It never ends and it destroys everyone and everything. If you just stayed because you thought he needed you, it wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyways. Trust me. It would’ve destroyed both of you sooner or later” “I think it already was too late. I think...  we... we both missed the point of no return and now... he’s gone.”</p><p>He is gone. He's gone and he has to stop hoping for him to come back.</p><p>She sighs and closes her eyes for a second.</p><p>“I just miss him so much. I’ve been missing the whole time, I think. When he was high or barely the person he used to be. But at least there were still glimpses, tiny little moments and that was enough. Well, there were a lot of other things we had to work on, not just... not just the pills. But it has <em>always </em>been complicated. I <em>chose </em>complicated, because it’s worth it. He’s worth it.”</p><p>“Mr Hampton-“</p><p>“He told me that we’ve never loved each other. That it’s been nothing more than that toxic co-dependence from the very beginning.”</p><p>Annalise makes a disapproving noise and rolls her eyes. It reminds Oliver of him, of the way he used to roll his eyes, slightly annoyed, sometimes slightly amused.</p><p>"I hope you didn't believe that. You know him." Actually a part of him did, the part of him that called their relationship toxic first. But deep inside he knew it wasn't everything.</p><p>“That doesn't matter! Because I didn’t disagree. I didn’t tell him that I love him, despite being caught in that cycle of using and needing each other, so caught in this mess which wasn’t his fault! The addictions, the traumas – that wasn’t him, that wasn’t <em>us </em>and I didn’t tell him. I forgot, I... I just couldn’t see him anymore and... and  I started doubting our relationship, started asking myself if it really wasn’t love but co-dependence. It was so messed up that I almost forgot how much I love him, that it was love indeed, not just need. I almost forgot <em>him</em>, that he is so much more than the demons of his pasts and the pills and everything. And I should’ve told him and now it’s too late and I just love him so much and I didn’t tell him and now-“ “Oliver, stop it!” He’s out of breath since he’s been talking way too fast and sobbing the whole time.</p><p>“I just miss him so much”, he whispers and looks at her with tears in his eyes.</p><p>“I get that. It’s been only a week.” She sighs again and rubs her temples. Again a painful reminder of <em>his </em>habits. “You were right.” “What” “I thought working might help you, get distracted. It works for me. For Ms Pratt as well, even for ... well it works most of the time, working is a good distraction. But obviously that doesn’t help you at all. “No it doesn’t”, he agrees sadly. The problem is that nothing works. His whole life is a constant reminder of <em>him</em>, work, the rest of the Keating 5, the apartment, every café or bar they’ve ever been to. “I think I better get home and get some sleep. I... I suffer from insomnia recently”, he explains.</p><p>Which is true, he’s no longer just mentally, but also physically tired. He spends most of the nights imagining different scenarios. Sometimes he still hopes for him to come home, his favourite but most likely an impossible scenario. Still he closes his eyes and tries to imagine his "if Connor came back" scenario. How he would react, angry at first of course. There is still so much anger, although it’s not directed against <em>him </em>but against everything, the whole situation and the fact that he couldn’t help him. But then they would talk. Well <em>he </em>would try to avoid it, of course, he’s too stubborn and hates conversations too much, still they would have one of these conversations in which Oliver just has to ask anything and <em>he </em>forces himself to answer. Then, Oliver would forgive him and he would forgive Oliver for leaving him. He would finally quit the drugs, go back to therapy and try to learn with his traumas. Of course it wouldn't be easy, it would be messy and complicated and still a roller-coaster ride. But they would be back together, in love.</p><p>That’s his favourite scenario; even though it makes him cry every night, but after a while the tears stops and he falls to sleep.</p><p>Other nights he just stayed awake, checking all the social media accounts he's barely been using anyways. And then he gets hypnotized by a photograph of him or the both of them, smiling, laughing, happy, which makes him cry again until he is so exhausted and his eyes hurt so much that he can’t stay awake anymore.</p><p>Memories of better times hurt more the ones of the time when they started falling apart. They remind him of what he lost, not of how and why he lost it.</p><p>If only he hadn’t left him. Yes, he was tired, yes, he couldn’t do it anymore. But he should’ve told him. And he should’ve forced him to seek help, real professional help. <em>There was no chance, you can’t force someone to accept help. </em>That’s what Michaela said. But he’d already accepted Oliver’s help. Maybe if he’d told Annalise earlier or if he had told Gemma they would have been able to convince him to go to rehab.</p><p>“Take the week off and get some sleep”, Annalise answers. “But if you need anyone or don’t feel okay, you call me, okay? Or anyone else. And I’ll call you every day to make sure that you’re alright.” He isn’t the one who’s suicidal. Nor the one who tries to drown his worries and pain with certain substances.</p><p>Maybe if she’d called <em>him </em>every day...</p><p>“Thanks”, he just says.</p><p>He shouldn’t blame her.</p><p>***************</p><p>The first thing he thinks about, when he opens the apartment door, is the day he moved in. <em>What, I never said that you could- </em>But he just did it, spontaneously, to show him how serious he was about them.</p><p>The next memory is caused by the kitchen – or rather the empty take away boxes which the kitchen is recently filled with. They remind him of that night, when he showed up to apologise for the dinner he’d cancelled.  The kitchen also reminds him of conversations they had, of his bad mood before the first coffee, the evenings they spent making dinner, the night he came home with a bottle of champagne.</p><p>The living room is filled with memories, it’s overwhelming. The books he read - always more than one at the same time. His bag and all the notes he made for law school, barely readable. The pillow he always pressed against his body in comfort. The Scrabble – he always won that game as if his mind was a dictionary. His beautiful, unpredictable mind.</p><p>He lies down on the sofa and grabs the pillow, <em>his</em> pillow, holds it tight. Only a week. Already a week. A week since that night he destroyed everything.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>15 is my favourite number, so I thought better 15 than 14 chapters (although I am not 100% sure if there r really so many chapters left? Maybe there will just be 13 which is a nice number as well, although primes are overrated. We'll see). Next chapter finally brings us back to what the hell happened that night.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey there. Short chapter, next one might be longer. Chapters 14 &amp; 15 (aka the kind of happy end) are finished. But I am a very chaotic person, can't just write a story from the beginning till the end but just bits and pieces.</p><p>In case you forgot what happened so far: Connor is with his dealer at some party because he needs to get high (again), Oliver's just called Michaela after he realised Connor is gone etc etc.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Sunday, 1:48</strong>
</p><p>There’s an empty room upstairs. The room of someone he doesn’t know.</p><p>He feels empty as well. Empty and lonely, even though Joe is there. What has he done? What the fuck has he done?!</p><p>Another sip from the glass, waiting for the pills to kick in. The relief when he took them just lasted a minute, but then it became worse, he <em>felt </em>worse. So guilty and ashamed and... empty. He still feels <em>something</em>. He still has to <em>think</em> about something. And that's not what he wanted.</p><p>It won’t take long though, right? He just has to be patient and then he’ll be fine..</p><p>No he won’t. He just screwed up <em>again</em> plus he hurt Oliver. Fuck. Why does he have to be so weak?! Why can’t he stop making the same mistakes?!</p><p>He sits down on the bed, takes out his phone and opens the chat. Three words, eight letters. No abbreviations. At least for once the autocorrect is pretty useful. Typing is too hard anyways, he can’t think straight, he can barely control his fingers and when will the pills finally kick in?!</p><p>“It takes too long.” “Patient”, Joe says and leans forward to kiss him, this time wilder, longer. Connor lets himself fall back on the soft bed, closing his eyes. That’s okay. That’s a good way to stop his thoughts from spinning around, a good way to feel safe. It will be fine, he’ll probably enjoy it, even though the regrets will follow later. It will be fine, because it’s predictable, he knows the rules and he’s a pretty good player. But out of a sudden the kissing stops. He opens his eyes and sees Joe laughing. <em>Sees. </em>Right. The sound is strange. Oh, good. He’s been patient long enough. “What...?”, he asks and stares at the other man. “I won’t sleep with you, Walsh. Not tonight at least.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Not your fault, but I don’t fuck someone who’s stoned.”</p><p>Oh. “Then why are we here?”, he stammers totally confused.</p><p>“Business. Waiting for customers.”</p><p>“Oh.” Quick-witted. That’s how Oliver called him once. Smart and quick-witted and eloquent. Well, so much for that.</p><p>“And to take care of you.”</p><p>“What?” He doesn’t understand. Maybe his brain has finally stopped working. Which would be awesome, no more guilt, no more thoughts, no more feelings. Awesome.</p><p>At least he’s still sarcastic.</p><p>“Your body isn’t used to your normal dose anymore, so you better be careful not to-”</p><p>“As if you cared!”, he snaps back and jumps up from the bed.</p><p>“Just don’t wanna lose a pretty good customer. Plus I actually kinda like you.”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous.”</p><p>“God, relax, Walsh. You can either stay or enjoy the party downstairs. I’ll join later. But don’t drink too much and-”</p><p>“Stop telling me what to do!”, he shouts. Does he shout? He wants to but ...</p><p>When he goes downstairs, he runs into somebody, who snaps at him, upset, he says something. But Connor doesn’t listen, nor does he care, because he’s finally getting better.</p><p>***************</p><p>The music is actually not that bad at all. Feels slightly muted now, far away. Diving, that’s how it feels, diving. Under water. He’s always liked swimming and diving, the sea, the water. Finally, finally there’s the relief he’s been waiting for. Finally he’s feeling okay, almost alive.</p><p><em>Almost alive.</em> A glimpse of Oliver comes to his mind, his eyes filled with worries and sadness. Just for a second. But he can stop thinking about it. Finally, he escaped the circle, the never ending spinning thoughts in his mind. He found his way to escape.</p><p>Dancing, Music, he doesn’t have to think about it, doesn’t have to think about anything. “You’re a friend of Joseph, right?” Who’s Joseph? Joe is Joseph? Okay. But how...? “I’ve seen you upstairs.” Nice, he doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t have to concentrate on listening. Just react. Easy. And then they somehow start kissing and that’s even easier, it’s nice. Makes him feel better, less alone. Alive.</p><p>He’s only human, too, after all. Oliver will forgive him, for sure. He always does. And why does he even care? He’s safe now. He’s okay.</p><p>One comes to the other. He doesn’t really think about it, it really is like diving. Everything is so far away, his mind seems to be empty and he enjoys the emptiness, his escape. They end up kissing in the room upstairs. Or is it another room? Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. “Wanna try?”, the man – what’s his name? – asks him. For Christ’s sake, he doesn’t want questions, he just wants to fuck with some one.</p><p>But then he takes a tiny plastic bag with small white pills out of his pocket. Hypnotising. “What’s that?” “Something that’ll make you feel amazing.”</p><p>
  <em>Your body isn’t used to your normal dose anymore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know what you need to right now?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s probably been up all night worrying if you’re ok. If you OD’ed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You are going to go kill yourself</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please tell me that Connor is with you and that he’s fine </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That's the one good thing you're going to do in your life, Connor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Me or the drugs. Just choose, Connor</em>
</p><p>
  <em>***************</em>
</p><p>“Michaela, wait a second. He... He sent a message.” She has just arrived, standing in the kitchen, still wearing her coat. “What?”</p><p>Oliver wants to be wrong so badly. He wants him to be out for a run – a very late fun, but maybe he just couldn’t sleep or whatever.</p><p>The message takes his breath away. “Oliver, what does it say?”</p><p>“I am sorry.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That’s what it says. Three words, <em>I am sorry."</em></p><p>This is bad. This is really, really bad. It makes him fill ill, that dull feeling that something is utterly wrong.</p><p>“Usually he... he doesn’t say anything until he comes back. He only apologises when we fight... but he doesn’t write messages like that. Why did he write a message? Why can’t he tell me later?”</p><p>“Oliver, calm down, that doesn’t mean anything.”</p><p>“Are you sure about that? What if that means that... God, Michaela, I am scared. I am <em>really </em>scared.” What if that means Connor won’t come back? That this is his final apology?</p><p>No, he wouldn’t do this; at least he would leave more than a text message.</p><p>Probably he just feels bad because he relapsed. That’s actually a good sign, right? It means that the regrets it earlier, not just during another argument. And maybe the regrets actually stopped him from taking the drugs. Unlikely but not impossible, right?</p><p>Who is he trying to fool? When will he finally stop hoping, stop making up utopian scenarios instead of preparing himself for the truth? And the truth is: Something is wrong, he knows it. And Michaela knows it as well, he can see it in her eyes, and the fact that she fails at sounding normal and optimistic, even though ,staying calm and smiling despite any difficulties’ is her secret super power.</p><p>Okay, but his ,super power’ might be actual useful right now. “I could track his phone.” He has never done this before, not a single time, not even when he knew that Connor was probably secretly buying pills. It was the ultimate line he never wanted to cross. Not tracking his phone was the sign that there was a tiny bit of trust left, not much, but at least a basis to build upon, to <em>re-</em>build the trust in Connor. Elementary for (re-)building their relationship. He doesn’t know what to do without that remaining trust. But he doesn’t know what to do without Connor either, and losing him seems way worse than losing the trust in him – and Connor’s trust in Oliver vice versa.</p><p>“Don’t you just want to wait, until...” He just shakes his head. Not tonight. Not after that message and definitely not with that strange feeling inside him that makes him sick. “No, I’m going to track Connor’s phone.”</p><p>***************</p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t take long. The streets aren’t busy and Michaela drives way too fast, still it feels like forever, as if every minute was a minute too long. “Do you know the area?”, she asks as she turns to the right. Of course she tries to start a conversation, but he just shakes his head.</p><p>3 more minutes according to Google Maps.</p><p>“It seems like a nice neighbourhood, the front yards are quite pretty, right.” He knows exactly what Connor would answer. But he isn’t Connor. “Yeah, seems like a good area.” “Posh, you mean.” He’d like to thank her for trying to stay calm and trying to calm him – even though it’s clearly visible that she can’t control her feelings as she wishes. Her whole body is tense, her hands claps the steering wheel, still she manages to stay calm and controlled. Until...</p><p>She sees it first because Oliver is still staring on he screen of his phone, filled with the naive hope that Connor might text him again. Or even call. But when she stops the car so abruptly that he almost drops his phone, he looks up and sees it too. It feels like a déjà-vu that takes him back to the night of the fire. Even though he can hear and see that there is still a party going on, inside this house he doesn’t even know. Last time there was a burnt down house, a crowd of people in front of it. This time it’s just a couple of people standing around, some of them curiously staring at the ambulance, others don’t even seem to care.</p><p>Still, the feeling is the same: Paralysed. Scared. Panicking.</p><p>No. Not him, please don’t let it be him.</p><p>
  <em>I am sorry. </em>
</p><p>An endless circle of déjà-vus. </p><p>Don't let it be Connor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you have managed to read everything so far, you know that my English might sound strange because I'm not a native speaker, plus you know about weird time jumps (that only work if they drive really fast, but I didn't plan that from the beginning, so pls just ignore that) AND you know that Connor's relapsed, Oliver is worried as always and everything is going wrong, so enjoy the chaos.  xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><strong> <em>“</em> </strong> <em>He’s dead! He... he died and I... I couldn’t do anything...” </em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>S<strong>unday, 2:15 am</strong></p><p>“Good news or bad news, what do you want to hear first.” Michaela asks as she comes out of the hospital. He’s waiting in front of it, even though he was pretty sure he would be the one handling everything, the one asking how he was, waiting – or rather bagging the hospital staff – for some news, drinking bad coffee out of paper cups. But he just can’t do this anymore. Everything reminds him of that night. And of every other night he’s spent worrying about Connor. The bright fluorescent lamps, the white walls, the unbearable silence. So he left, waited in front of the building which doesn’t make it any better. The silence is the same, so is the fear. Even his attempt to escape the memories of all the other nights fails.</p><p>“Just tell me that he isn’t...”</p><p>He can’t finish the sentence, can’t look at Michaela.</p><p>“It isn’t Connor”, she interrupts him with a sharp voice. What? The possibility came into his mind, at least when they first saw the ambulance. It can’t be Connor, that’s what he thought at first. But what are the odds that Connor goes to some party – most likely to buy pills again... No, certainly to buy pills again... Oliver’s purse is gone, <em>Connor </em>is gone in the middle of the night, leaving nothing but a cryptic text message on his phone. He relapsed, that’s not a possibility but a fact. So what are the odds that Connor relapses at a party and still isn’t the reason why there is an ambulance in front of the house, not long after he sent a message saying that he is sorry?! Of course that’s what Oliver <em>hoped </em>but it didn’t really seem like an option until...</p><p>“It... it isn’t Connor?”, he repeats Michaela’s words in disbelief.</p><p>“How... how do you even know?!”</p><p>He doesn’t care, actually. The question just escapes his mouth, although his mind is occupied with different thoughts. Where is he. Where is ... what happened? He should have stayed, he should have looked for him first instead of just ... panicking. Panicking. He is still panicking. Where is Connor?</p><p>“It isn’t”, she says again. “Okay, actually there are no bad or good news. Just two things. That guy isn’t Connor, that’s the first thing. The second thing is that this guy’s alive. He didn’t have an ID, so I just told them that I was his fiancée... doesn’t matter. So that guy will survive and-“</p><p>“I don’t care, Michaela, I don’t care!”, he screams at her. “I am sorry. I am sorry”, he adds immediately, feeling the tears coming up again.  Normally he’d care, even about strangers. Normally he doesn't scream at Michaela or any of his friends. But right now the only one who matters is Connor.</p><p>“I’m just telling you because he suffered from a heart attack that was probably caused by taking drugs”, she explains softly and lays her hand on his shoulder.</p><p>What happened to them? How did they end up there?</p><p>“That doesn’t mean anything. Probably everyone there was doing drugs”, he says quietly.  “It doesn’t mean that Connor was with him. It doesn’t mean that Connor’s okay. It doesn’t mean that Connor is alive. Tears are running down his face and he doesn’t hold them back. Of course they could be relieved, but he isn’t relieved at all, he is terrified. If it would have been Connor, he’d known that he was okay, if you can say surviving a heart attack counts as ‘being okay’.</p><p>Where is Connor? Did anything happen to him? Is he high, still alive? An endless line of questions and worries in his head. He can’t even trace his phone again because he turned it off. Or the battery was too law, still, he has no idea where he can be now.</p><p> Michaela tries her best to calm him down, in front of the hospital, uncertain whether to go home or stay there, just in case... “You know what, I’ll stay here, I’ll ask Maggie to keep me updated if you want to. You should go home, just in case he shows up.”  </p><p>He won’t show up.</p><p>
  <em>I am sorry. </em>
</p><p>No autocorrect. Connor is too lazy for typing. Normally. Master of abbreviations.</p><p>
  <em>I. Am. Sorry.</em>
</p><p>He wouldn’t have sent this if he intended to...</p><p>And then - before he could answer, his phone ringed, Connor’s name popping up on the screen. For a moment he just stares at it, unable to move. His fingers shake as he slowly presses the button to accept the call.</p><p>“Hello?”, he asks carefully. He can feel his own heartbeat. “I screwed up”, is the first thing Connor says. They should print him a t-shirt with the sentence on it. “What did you take? No, wait, I don’t want to know, just tell me where you are-“ “Oliver, I really, really screwed up this time”, Connor interrupts him. He is definitely high, he can hear it in his voice. But he thought the same in the night of the bonfire, right? So maybe, just maybe... God, no, of course he is high, when will he finally stop hoping?</p><p>“Connor, I am not mad at you, okay?”, he says exhausted.</p><p>The same dialogue, again and again. He knows the words by heart<em>: I am not mad. It’s okay. – I am so sorry. I screwed up. I promise you I won’t do it again. </em>It’s always the same song in loop, just sometimes in a slightly different tune – anger, sadness, despair – but always the same words, always in a minor key.</p><p>“Just tell me-“ “He’s dead! He... he died and I...I couldn’t do anything...”</p><p>Connor’s voice is filled with panic.</p><p>“Wait, hey... calm down. What-”</p><p>“He is <em>dead</em>!”</p><p>“Listen, tell me – hello? Are you still there?” Suddenly he can hear someone else talking, or rather arguing, though he can barely understand what he’s saying. <em>What are you doing</em>, probably. “Connor?”, he tries it again but then there is suddenly a voice he doesn’t recognise. “He’s is fine. I’m taking care of him.” What. No. Who... “Hello? Hello?!” But he line’s gone dead.</p><p>“What did he say?” Michaela asks. Unable to say anything, Oliver just dials his number again and again, but no one picks up.</p><p>He should be relieved that Connor is okay. Well not okay, but it could have been worse. Could it? “I... I need to know where he is. I need to know who he’s with, where he is, if he’s okay, I need to know what happened!” “Shhh, hey, it’s okay, we’ll find him, okay? You’ll just use your IT magic tricks and we’ll find him.” He should be relieved by Connor’s call. But the things he said? His voice? His panic? The fact that he most likely relapsed?</p><p>He isn’t relieved at all, his worries have increased.</p><p>***********</p><p>
  <strong>Earlier.</strong>
</p><p>“What’s that?” “Something that’ll make you feel amazing.”</p><p>
  <em>Your body isn’t used to your normal dose anymore</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You know what you need to right now?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He’s probably been up all night worrying if you’re ok. If you OD’ed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You are going to go kill yourself</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Please tell me that Connor is with you and that he’s fine </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That's the one good thing you're going to do in your life, Connor.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Me or the drugs. Just choose, Connor</em>
</p><p>“No... I’m... I’m good.” How ironic. He isn’t ,good’, not in any way.</p><p>“Okay.” The other one just says and takes one, before they continue where they just stopped. And God, it’s good. Kisses, his hands all over his body, the warmth of his skin, the feeling of the other man’s breath, getting faster and faster. And it’s good, he feel’s good until-</p><p>Until it goes horribly wrong.</p><p>************</p><p>“I don’t know what happened... we were just...”  Fragments, again. Puzzle pieces. But his mind isn’t in the state for puzzling. “Get dressed”, Joe commands in a firm voice. “Wait for me downstairs.” “I don’t know... he’s alright, yes? Tell me he’s just stoned”, Connor stammers panicky, looking at the other man’s body, lying there. Not moving. Not again, no no no, this isn’t happening again. It’s just a hallucination. It isn’t real. It can’t be real. “Walsh, wait for me downstairs.” “If he... isn’t stoned you... we need to call an ambulance, we need to-“It’s <em>too late, </em>idiot, so get the fuck out of here. I’ll fix it.”</p><p><em>I’ll fix it.</em> No this isn’t happening again. No no no. Out. He needs to leave, as Joe said. Following orders, again.</p><p>He isn’t diving anymore, he’s drowning. Again. How did he end up here again? His mind doesn’t work, his thoughts are too fast, his mind too slow. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what happened, how he screwed up so so badly.</p><p>A body. Again.</p><p>The cold outside isn’t the reason why his whole body is shivering. His heart is pounding against his chest, his breaths comes faster and faster. That guy’s heart was pounding fast as well. His breath was fast. Until it stopped.</p><p>No, not again. Not again.</p><p>He needs to calm down. He needs to think. There are thoughts in his head, fragments of the last minutes, but he can’t connect him. His mind has stopped working, or rather it’s working in slow motion, unable to catch a single thought that comes and goes way to fast. He needs to calm down, he needs to concentrate.</p><p>
  <em>5-4-3-2-1.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Count.</em>
</p><p>Ollie sometimes tried that. When the panic starts, when he is drowning.</p><p>Five.</p><p>Five Things.</p><p>
  <em>Five things you can see.</em>
</p><p>But he can’t. He can’t see anything, everything around him is just spinning around and around. There are pictures in his head, though, pictures burnt into his memory.</p><p>Five bodies, that’s the only thing that crosses his mind.</p><p>Burnt.</p><p>Sam. Burnt, why did they have to burn him?</p><p>Five.</p><p>Sam. Paxton. Sinclair. Wes. What was the name of the last one? He doesn’t know his name, he needs to know...</p><p>Four.</p><p>The pieces of Sam’s body. He touched the fucking pieces of a dead body.</p><p>Dead</p><p>Dead and burnt and he touched it and</p><p>Wes’ body, his hand’s on his chest, trying, trying, trying to reanimate him.</p><p>The stranger’s body, it’s warmth, before, before...</p><p>The stranger’s body. Still warm, not moving.</p><p>Three.</p><p>The sound of Sam’s bones cracking.</p><p>The sound of Sinclair’s body as it hit the ground.</p><p>The sound- “Walsh?”</p><p>The sound of his name? “Walsh, hey” The sound is so far away, so so far, as if he was deep under water, in a lake...</p><p> At the <em>bottom</em> of a lake, and someone’s calling him from shore, calling his name. His lungs need oxygen, it desperately needs to breath, but there is no chance. He’s too deep under water now, too far away from the lakefront.</p><p>His vision get’s blurred</p><p>Dead. Dead, dead, dead</p><p>Everything just goes black.</p><p>**********</p><p>
  <strong>2:12.</strong>
</p><p>When he wakes up, he has no idea where he is, nor what happened. At first, at least. Then the memories hit him like punch in the face. Or not just like a punch in the face. More like a knife stabbing him. A knife that hurts him deep inside and will leave more scars. So many fucking scars.</p><p>He feels the panic coming back, rising like a storm inside of him, a storm he can’t control.</p><p>Body.</p><p>Dead body.</p><p>Why does he always end up in the wrong place at the wrong time?!</p><p>Because he’s damaged. He’s a mess. Somehow he always takes the wrong choices, someone he always screws up, always hurts Ollie. Ollie</p><p>. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t drag him into this mess, he shouldn’t but... Fuck he <em>needs</em> him. His hands are shaking as he takes the phone out of his pocket. It’s still so hard to concentrate... Where is Joe? Where are his pills? Why are there no pills in his pocket?! He needs... He just can’t handle this shit sober.</p><p>“Hello?”</p><p>Ollie. Ollie’s voice. Angry?</p><p>Doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. What has he done?! What the fuck has he done?</p><p>“I screwed up”, he stumbles.</p><p>He really did. Body. Dead. In front of him.</p><p>As if the relapse wasn’t enough.</p><p>
  <em>It’s too late, idiot, so get the fuck out of here. I’ll fix it.</em>
</p><p>Fix it. Nothing has ever been fixed.</p><p>And the only thing that helps him has destroyed everything that was left. Everyone that was left.</p><p>“What did you take? No, wait, I don’t want to know, just tell me where you are-“ “Oliver, I really, really screwed up this time”, he interrupts him.</p><p>He’s dead. Again. Why is that happening again and again and again? His breathing becomes faster again. He needs to calm down, he needs <em>something </em>to calm down.</p><p>
  <em>“What’s that?” “Something that’ll make you fell amazing.”</em>
</p><p>He needs something. Oxy, anything, doesn’t matter, he needs to escape the memories.</p><p>“Connor, I am not mad at you, okay?”</p><p>He needs to escape.</p><p>No, he needs Ollie. He needs help. He needs-</p><p>“Just tell me-“</p><p>The pictures, the pictures burnt inside his head. Dead, dead, dead.</p><p>“He’s dead! He... he died and I...I couldn’t do anything...”</p><p>Panic. His throat closing up. The thoughts, the fragmentary memories.</p><p>“Wait, hey... calm down. What-”</p><p>“He is <em>dead</em>!”</p><p>He is dead. He is <em>dead. How?! Why?! </em>How did tehy go from kissing, from fucking each other to ... <em>that?! </em></p><p>“Listen, tell me – hello? Are you still there?”</p><p>He is dead. Dead.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing?” Someone snatches the phone from his hands. Joe? Joe. At least he knows where he is. But he needs Ollie. He fucking needs him right now because he screwed up and if he doesn’t... if he doesn’t get help...</p><p>“I called Oliver.”</p><p>“Are you fucking stupid?!”</p><p>“He needs to know I am okay.”</p><p>He isn’t, though. He is fucking broken and there is no way to fix that, to fix him. There is nothing left to be done. He shouldn’t have called Oliver. He should have left Oliver alone from the very beginning. All that illegal stuff and the... and the ...</p><p>Deaths.</p><p>The deaths.</p><p>“You're an idiot, Walsh!”, Joe snaps at him before he puts the phone to his ear. “He’s is fine”, he says briefly. “I’m taking care of him.”</p><p>Illegal stuff and deaths and his whole bloody mess. There is no way to fix this, just a way to end all of it. Now.</p><p>“Give me something”, he chokes without looking at Joe.</p><p>He screwed up once too often. He hurt him once too often.</p><p>“Oxy, anything will do, I just need to get high. Please.” He shouldn't. He really shouldn't.</p><p>But escaping is the only option he has left.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OMG I completely forgot to upload the chapters :D I don't even remember what happened in the previous chapter of that fanfic... Which is why I just put some parts of the previous c. at the beginning of that one. (Also reminded me of HTGAWM, you know? The scenes at the beginning that are repeated again and again and everyone is like: can you please finally tell me what happend? Thanks.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>“That guy isn’t Connor, that’s the first thing. The second thing is that he’s alive.”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Just tell me-“ “He’s dead! He... he died and I...I couldn’t do anything...” “Wait, hey... calm down. What-” “He is dead!” “Listen, tell me – hello? Are you still there</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Connor?” - “He’s is fine. I’m taking care of him.” </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>.”I need to know where he is. I need to know who he’s with, where he is, if he’s okay, I need to know what happened!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shhh, hey, it’s okay, we’ll find him, okay? You’ll just use your IT magic tricks and we’ll find him.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He found him. He finally found it. It wasn’t that difficult after all to find out the phone number of his... dealer. Once he got the number, it wasn’t that hard to find the address as well.</p><p>“You are...?” Of course the guy, with whom Connor is staying, is handsome, good-looking. Dark hair, tall, brown eyes.</p><p>“I am... looking for Connor.” He really tries to sound self-confident but he can’t even explain how he knows that Connor is here. And why he is showing up at some stranger’s door at 7am. “I think we talked to each other yesterday.” A casual sentence, but it sounds even more hostile than he intended.</p><p>“Oh, Oliver. The ex.”</p><p>The word ex still hurts, even though they are separated..</p><p>Strange that he remembers his name. Did Connor talk about him? Or is it so obvious that the two of them are, were together?</p><p>“Yes, Oliver” He doesn’t want to use the word ex-boyfriend, although that’s what he is. “Can I come in?” He doesn’t even wait for the answer, but thrusts past. “Hey!”. the other man snaps at him.</p><p>“I... I just want to talk to him. I <em>need </em>to talk to him.” There goes his self-confidence. Desperate, that’s how he sounds and for sure that’s how he looks at well. Nevertheless he just needs to see him, just to see that he is <em>okay. </em></p><p>“Okay, go ahead.” A smug smile appears on his lips, a smile Oliver doesn’t understand. He almost looks as if he’d won a game Oliver wasn’t even aware of.</p><p>“Bedroom. To the left”, he adds, misinterpreting Oliver’s confusion.  </p><p>Looking at Connor in his current state, the morning after the latest relapse, is like looking at an old blurred Polaroid. A Polaroid taken at the morning after the bonfire. <em>I have a drug problem, </em>that’s what he said back then. And now there they are, endless break-ups and fights and tears later, Connor just a shadow of his former self.</p><p>“Hey.” Gladly he’s already awake, although he looks still half asleep.</p><p>“Do you want to explain? The text message, the phone call, everything that happened last night?” Connor just stares at him. He doesn’t consider it necessary to get up from the bed. Bedroom, why is he even in the bedroom and not on the sofa?</p><p>Of course. How naive to think some things would change. How naive he was to think <em>Connor </em>could ever change.</p><p> “What? Not even one of your usual excuses and apologies?!”</p><p> He just shrugs and crosses his arms in front of him. It <em>enrages </em>Oliver, more than anything before; all his patience, his attempts to be calm and understanding vanish.</p><p>“Are you still high? Or again?!”, he screams at him.</p><p>“Jesus, no! This is ridiculous.” Finally. Finally an answer, though not really convincing.</p><p>“Is it? Tell me, Connor, because I have no idea what’s going on!”</p><p>Again he just stares at him as if he doesn’t even care. Probably he is just overreacting and unfair and that it’s probably way too early – regarding the fact that it’s 7 am <em>and </em>the fact that he didn’t give Connor enough time after everything that happened yesterday. He waited until the next morning, even though he couldn’t sleep, just to give Connor some more time. But how much time does he have to give him? How much time will ever be enough, how much time until he’s ready for a real conversation, how much time until he will finally realise he needs a therapy? Help, real help?</p><p>How many times does it take until he’ll finally stay clean? How many promises? How many nights does Oliver have to spend worrying, imagining the worst or trying to distract himself with these stupid optimistic scenarios, which never become true? How many more fights, how many apologies? How many times does it take until he’ll stop forgiving him?</p><p>Just once more? It’s been “once more” one time too often now.</p><p>Now he is screaming, because it’s enough. It’s finally enough, he can’t do this, he cannot do this anymore. “You know, I’ve always thought of addiction as a whirl, or a downward spiral, that’s the common phrase, right? But it isn’t. It’s like a hurricane and you’re right in the middle of it, in the eye, in the quiet! You made this mess and there you are, enjoying the peace and quiet in the eye of the hurricane where you don’t even realise that you are not only destroying yourself but everyone and everything around you!”, he shouts at him.</p><p>“Wow, how long have you been working on that metaphor?”, Connor just says with an amused smirk. What has happened to him? What has happened to the man he used to know, used to... Used to love?</p><p>“It’s not even a metaphor but a simile! And normally <em>you’d </em>be the smart-ass, who corrects me!” Oliver wants him to snap back, show the same anger and rage Oliver feels. Or the same despair, apologising, begging for forgiveness; even another promise that he can’t keep would be enough. But he doesn’t say anything, just shrugs again as if he doesn’t even care. And maybe he doesn’t. Of course, it could be the drugs... but something has changed. Maybe he’s stopped trying; maybe something has died inside him that night. Not just hard to see but <em>dead, </em>gone, no way to bring it back, to bring him back. Maybe he’s lost. Maybe Oliver lost him.</p><p>“What happened to you?”, Oliver whispers in disbelief, looking at Connor as if seeing him for the first time.</p><p>Every conversation, every fight with Connor is a rollercoaster of emotions. No, it actually fits in the whole hurricane-thunderstorm-metaphor slash simile slash allegory slash whatever stylistic device Connor would usually tell him it is.</p><p>His emotions usually start as a thunderstorm, full of anger and disappointment and rage. But every time they calm down, leaving just some raindrops and cloudy sky. Once in a while there used to be some sunshine as well. But not today, not anymore. Now there is nothing left but tears and a strange, dark emptiness inside of him. Emptiness. Numbness.</p><p>“You remember that guy? At the damn party you’ve been to yesterday?” Oliver usually doesn’t swear. “The one who almost died of a drug induced heart attack?! When I saw the ambulance, I thought it was you. I thought it was you. I thought ,that’s it’. I thought I had lost you in the end. But I was wrong, because... I’ve already lost you a long time ago. You’ve lost it. You’ve lost yourself, Connor.”</p><p>He turns to the door. So that’s it now. That’s it.</p><p>“Ollie, wait!”</p><p>“Don’t you dare use that nickname! Don’t you dare ever showing up at out apartment again after you’ve taken God knows what!”, he spits at him. He can’t do this anymore.</p><p> “Oliver, please, I lo-“ “Just shut up and let me go! That’s what you’ve always wanted, right? So if there is anything left of the Connor I knew, anything more than the fucking junky you’ve become-“ Connor looks as if he was slapped in the face; and suddenly there is that voice inside Oliver again, the guilt, the worries... The hope. But no, he can’t and he won’t do this anymore. He really can’t. It is too late.</p><p>“If there is anything left of the person I loved then let. Me. Go.” Connor looks at him in shock. And Oliver regrets it. He regrets everything he said immediately, and he knows that if anything happens to him now – or rather if Connor does any harm to himself – Oliver will always blame himself. But it’s enough.</p><p>And he’s right. That’s not the Connor he fell in love with, the Connor he’d forgive anything. The Connor he loved. Because that’s what he did, after all. He was so full of doubt, the whole time, they were so “screwed up”, as Connor likes say. But despite that, he knew deep inside that there was more, that there was something else than needing and using each other. Looking at Connor, this<em> something</em> feels like a faded memory, a memory of a feeling he once felt and a memory of a person he once loved.</p><p>He can’t even let Connor go because he’s already gone. Still it’s so hard to leave, to stop hoping to get someone back who’s long gone and to stop loving a memory. It finally has to move on – just like Connor always told him to.</p><p>But now it’s different.</p><p>Cause he’s gone, right?</p><p> </p><p>***********</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At first he regrets going there. If he hadn’t seen Connor like that... If it hadn’t escalated that quickly...</p><p>But no, it was the right thing to do. It was one time too often. And he didn’t even care anymore. He was so calm, so careless that it scared him. So it was the right thing to do, right?</p><p>That’s what Michaela told him. She then continued talking about addiction and how it destroys people, relationships. How it’s impossible to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. That Connor will realise that he needs help, not just Oliver, but real help.</p><p>Connor, that’s what Annalise talked about. How similar the two of them are. It wasn’t the right time to be jealous, of course it wasn’t, but seeing how much better Annalise could understand him, far better than Oliver ever did, was hard. He always thought he’d be the only one who could at least sometimes read Connor’s thoughts, the only one to have an idea of what’s going on in his mind. But apparently he didn’t. So that’s what Annalise said. That Connor and she had so much in common, except that Connor was a drama queen. But that he was also too smart for that shit (you are never ,too smart’ for addiction. That’s what both he and Annalise knew, but Michaela finally said.) That their ,little disagreement’ was the wake-up call. <em>He’ll come back</em>. <em>If there is something I know for sure is that Connor Walsh loves you. </em>As if love ever helped Annalise.</p><p>Laurel barely said anything. Just that she was sorry. Sorry for what she said to him and sorry that she didn’t took the drugs seriously. Admitted that she told him that they had other problems, more important problems. <em>I didn’t knew that he was suicidal! Or an addict! </em>That was the only time she reacted desperate, almost angry, the only thing she said anything at all.</p><p>Asher, in turn, freaked out. He sent text messages and tried to call him, even before Oliver started trying, he didn’t stop talking and trying to convince everyone – himself most of all – that Connor was okay. That everything was fine. Denial, that’s the first stage, right?</p><p>He’s been there. But apparently not even Asher believed that everything was fine, otherwise he would have stopped with his daily “hey Dude, hope you’re ok”, voice mails.</p><p>Oliver woudln’t call him, not this time. He was gone, he was gone. It was okay, right? He had no other choice.</p><p>Except that he had. He <em>had </em>the choice and he chose to let Connor down, in one of his darkest hours, to just <em>leave </em>him when he needed him the most. When he needed <em>anyone. </em>Connor on the other hand didn’t really have one. He didn’t choose to relapse, Oliver knows that. He wasn't the guilty one, but the victim. He suffered too. And blaming him for addiction, blaming him for everything that went wrong in their relationship was just so wrong. After all, it wasn’t even Connor, it was everything that affected him.</p><p>That’s when Oliver started to regret he said, and everything he didn’t say but should have, to regret that he gave up on him. He’s always wished that Connor could see himself through Oliver’s eyes. Could see everything he loved about him. But instead, for that moment, that crucial moment, Oliver stopped to see Connor, or maybe he saw Connor through<em> his</em> eyes, through Connor's, nothing but a liar, a slut, a drug addict. Not him. Not the person he loved.</p><p>And that’s what he regrets the most.</p><p>He sends the first voice message on Wednesday morning, or rather Tuesday night, when he couldn’t sleep. Then he sends another one, and one more. Then, he tries to call him, but it goes straight to voice mail which leaves that dull feeling again, that feeling that something bad might have happened. This time he doesn’t try to stay calm, to convince himself that maybe the phone broke or the battery is empty. Instead he loses himself in an endless line of worst case scenarios, all of which are culminating in the fact that he might be dead or going to die sooner or later. Overdose, suicide, the effects of the pills.</p><p>Which is why he starts imagining better scenarios, every detail of the day Connor would suddenly show up, sober in the best case. It would feel as if they were still a couple, familiar, despite all the mess. They’d even smile or laugh or ... or kiss.</p><p>But that doesn’t make it any better. He shouldn’t have left him. He shouldn’t. That’s the thought that haunts him, at night when he can’t sleep, during the day when he can’t reach Connor by phone or text message. On Thursday he buys a bottle of wine; he gave all the alcohol to Asher when Connor tried detox for the first time. <em>Ollie, seriously, I don’t have any issues with alcohol. – I know, just... And so it should stay.</em> <em>Connor rolled his eyes. </em>He buys some pasta as well, just to make it look as if he was planning a dinner or something and wasn’t buying a bottle of wine at 10 am. Annalise calls him half an hour later, since he hasn’t shown up at work for more than three days.</p><p>And he tries, he really tries to work, although everything reminds him of Connor and he just can’t stop wondering where he is. If he’s okay, if he’s alive.</p><p>That day, he doesn’t go home after work, but straightaway to that guy’s – the <em>dealer’s </em>– flat. He rings and rings and knocks until someone finally opens the door – and that someone is neither the dealer nor Connor. “Joseph, I guess there is one of your customers, I think”, the man says, checking Oliver up and down. He probably looks awful, even though he took a fresh shirt for work; he has barely slept or stopped crying and he can’t really remember if he took a shower since that night. That’s not the reason why he might look like a customer though. It's the desperation, the misery.</p><p>The dealer – Joseph – appears at the door, shirtless, his dark hair a mess. “Just give me a minute”, he whispers to the other guy and kisses him on the cheek. “So that’s a surprise”, he states as soon as they are talking face-to-face.</p><p>“Where is he?”, he just asks.</p><p>“Why do you ask me?! That bloody little junky stole my purse <em>and </em>the pills and left. I swear, if I find him alive, I kill that bastard.”</p><p>“He... he’s not there?!” That was not calculated, neither in his worst case nor in his utopian scenarios, not in the once he had so far.</p><p>“Did you hear what I say?”</p><p>“Where... did you try to call him?” Such a stupid question, Connor’s phone is switched off. He knows that. “Of course I did, idiot! But if you see him, tell him I want my money back.”</p><p>He just stares at him blankly. Where is Connor? He isn’t here. He isn’t at home. He has nowhere else to go, that’s what he said.</p><p>“Well, probably he just shot himself up somewhere, maybe took a too large dose.”</p><p>A part of Oliver wants to slap him, mostly because he is actually angry at himself for thinking exactly the same, but also because that Joseph is such an arrogant, careless asshole.</p><p>“It’s a pity, I know, but it always ends the same. Most of the time the OD is not a question of if but of when”, he shrugs. And that gesture, the symbol that he doesn’t even care, that presumptuous smirk, that he already hated when he first met him... That’s just too much. Which is why Oliver does it. He didn’t plan to, it just happens automatically, like a reflex, even though Oliver has never hit anyone before. Talking, that’s what he’s good at. A conversation can solve any problem, or that’s at least what he thought. But now that guy - the one who <em>sold </em>Connor drugs, who is complicit of his relapse - dares to tell him that Connor probably OD’ed without even turning a hair?! As if he wasn’t a person but just another customer?!  </p><p>Probably Oliver’s hand hurts more than Joseph’s face. But this time he is the one who doesn’t care. He just slaps him right in the face because it's easier to blame that guy, to blame anyone but himself. Even though Oliver knows that he is the guilty one. That he is the one who left Connor when he needed him. Not even his happy-ending-scenarios can stop him thinking of that guilt, that regret. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I think this was actually unfinished but I  just leave it like that.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For a moment he considers knocking at the door, but Oliver won’t be there anyways. He’ll be gone before Ollie is back from work.</p><p>Or that’s what he thought, at least.</p><p>As soon as the door is closed, Oliver appears in the kitchen, staring at him as if he’s seen a ghost.</p><p>“Connor?!” He just stares back at him.</p><p>“What the hell are you doing here? I almost thought you were a burglar! I mean, you <em>are </em>a thief-”</p><p>Right, the money. He forgot about that.</p><p>“But... God, Connor, why are you here? You could’ve called or at least knocked. And... I want my key back..."</p><p>Okay, Oliver is not happy to see him. Understandable. He has the right to be angry, to throw him out of their – no, his – apartment.</p><p>“I thought you’d be at work. Didn’t want to bother you...”</p><p>That’s true, although a part of him had hoped for a coincidence like that, for seeing him, even though it’s so wrong. He should let him go, leave him alone, that’s what Oliver asked for as well. <em>If there’s anything left of the person I loved then let me go. </em>The paradox of their (former) relationship: he needs him – and he <em>likes</em> him – so much that on the one hand he wants to spend the rest of his life with him can’t leave him nor forget him, while on the other hand he wants to be forgotten, wants him to move on, wants to let him go.</p><p>Being forgotten is easier than forgetting though. Letting him go harder than being left.</p><p>“Well, I took a day off, a week actually. Or rather Annalise sent me home.”</p><p>That means he doesn’t feel good, which is his fault. Great. Has he been drinking? It’s quite early, but that doesn’t mean anything – that he knows for sure. Automatically he eyes him up and down. Oliver seems tired, his eyes are red as if he’s been crying a lot, but not as if he’s been drinking. He’s not an angry drunk anyways, rather cute: calm and confessing certain things like how much he loved him. Well that was long ago, but anyways. He’s glad that there are no signs of any of the ,coping mechanisms’, as Oliver would say, towards which Connor would probably turn in such a situation. He’s glad that he didn’t push Oliver into that downward spiral he and Annalise are trapped in – or have been? Still he feels guilty and sorry to see the pain he caused him. Another paradox: No matter what he does, Oliver will get hurt. Stay – hurt Oliver. Leave – hurt Oliver.</p><p>“I’ll give you the key... I just wanted to pack my things and go”, he says in a calm voice.</p><p>“So you’re going back to him? Finally moving in with him now like a sweet couple? For sure the both of you are a good match. Not co-dependent or toxic at all.”</p><p>His tone of voice is a mixture of anger and sarcasm, which is atypical for Oliver.</p><p>“But good for you, sleeping with your dealer, what was his name? Joseph? Probably really effective for you, I mean, your two favourite ways of getting your fix.” There is sadness, too, sadness and pain hidden behind enraged words. Words obviously chosen to hurt Connor and they don’t miss their purpose. Still he doesn’t interrupt Oliver; he has the right to be mad at him, to hate him, to say whatever he wants to say. He deserves it, it’s just fair.</p><p>“You’ve got a nerve, showing up here, after... after <em>everything, </em>after I told you not come back here until... God, don’t you at least want to defend yourself?!”</p><p>He’s searching for the right words. He wants to explain, tell him everything. How it was too hard for him to stop, to get out of that spiral. How the demons of his past still haunt him. Things that happened long before he became part of the K5. Then Sam's death. Sinclair. The fire.. How he thought that guy he slept with had just died as well - at least until Oliver told him that he was still alive. How he blamed himself,  just like he always did. How he was struggling long before Lauren told him to kill himself. So many things, so many explanations. He has to say the right thing, just once, at least, but that’s not really his strength.</p><p>“Just get your things and leave, Connor.” Tiredness. A mosaic of emotions. No it’s rather a painting with different layers. Anger is the first one to see, but underneath is a whole colour range full of sadness, pain, disappointment and exhaustion.</p><p>“I’m not”, he eventually says, staring down. “What?” New colour: Confusion.</p><p>“Imprecise answer. I am definitely <em>not</em> living in his apartment anymore and I am <em>not </em>using.” Now Oliver seems to be the one who lost his tongue.</p><p>“You don’t have to lie, Connor”, he then says quietly, his voice softens. “I am not blind. And you really don’t have to lie to me.”</p><p>Understandable reaction, after all his lies and broken promises. Nevertheless he wishes Oliver could trust him again. Could see when he is lying and when he’s actually for once telling the truth.</p><p>“I’m staying at Gemma’s”, he starts to explain, ignoring Oliver’s comment. “And I know, I didn’t want to, but there wasn’t really anywhere... or anyone else.”</p><p>“Does she know?”</p><p>He just shrugs and finally looks up again. “I’ve told her we broke up and that I’m feeling really... lost. She didn’t ask, but I think my ‘it’s just the flu’ lie didn’t really convince her. And the rest of the pills is gone, so I am pretty <em>sure </em>she knows. Or maybe she doesn’t know that I am an addict” –it feels strange to say it out loud, to admit that it’s the truth – “but thinks I just wanted to try it again. Anyways, she probably waits until I am ready to talk about it.”</p><p>This won’t happen. He is not one of these persons who like to talk about everything, like Oliver and Gemma. He’s more the stubborn ‘ignore-conversation-and-pretend-everything-is-fine’ kind of person.</p><p>“Wanted to try it <em>again</em>?”</p><p>Fuck, he has unintentionally been a bit too honest this time.</p><p>“Wanted to try <em>what </em>again, Connor?”</p><p>“I...”, he stumbles. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.” A bitter laugh escapes Oliver’s mouth.</p><p>“You never want to talk about anything.”</p><p>“I... I know. But really, Oliver, I am... I am not in the state to talk about it now, okay? Even without such thoughts, it’s already hard enough to stay...” The sentence stays unfinished, and maybe it’s even truer without the missing word. It’s really hard to stay clean. But it’s even harder to stay.</p><p>“Okay, I am sorry.” Oliver’s voice softens. If only he stopped apologising for everything.</p><p>“What about... rehab?”</p><p>There is so much hope in his question that for a moment he considers lying to him again instead of disappointing him.</p><p>“No”, he admits and realises how Oliver’s face drops. “<em>But</em> I am considering it, okay? I made an appointment with a new therapist though. And... uhm... there’s an NA meeting on Tuesdays...”</p><p>“There is a difference between ,there is’ and ,I am attending’ an NA meeting.”</p><p>Ollie knows him way too well.</p><p>“I intend to. I’ve already been to the one this week it was worse than expected. Remember in school, grade 6 or something, when you had to introduce yourself a whole class of strangers and tell everyone about your last holiday and all that crap? It’s <em>awful.</em>” Oliver shakes his head, obviously trying really hard not to smile.</p><p>“So you are really...”, he then asks awkwardly.</p><p>“What? Totally failing in law school? An asshole? Still pretty handsome? The worst ex-boyfriend ever?” It’s a serious topic but now Oliver finally can’t hide his slightly amused smile anymore, even though it just lasts for a second.</p><p>He made him smile. He really managed to see Oliver’s smile again.</p><p>“Clean.” Not much longer if they don’t change the topic soon.</p><p>“Yes, I am.... Although it’s just been a couple of days plus the awful NA meeting.”</p><p>He really wishes he could tell Oliver that he had stopped immediately after their fight, ten days ago now. That he quit as soon as he left Joe’s, wait, Joseph’s flat. Sadly he didn’t. Took him three more days and Gemma throwing away the pills she found plus.</p><p>“Been through the... the usual things, headaches, throwing up, the shaking et cetera. The second and third day was particularly bad”, he admits. “But it’s getting better, I guess. I mean... I’m still not feeling great but it's way better. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Anyway, I just wanted to get my things, some clothes, you know. I really didn’t expect you to be here, so... So yeah, as I said, it’s just been a few days, so it doesn’t really count yet.“</p><p>“Every day counts, Connor.” Not if he relapses after a week, and that’s one of his biggest fears at the moment. This time feels different, but that doesn’t mean anything, as long as he can’t even trust himself.</p><p>“It does”, Oliver reassures him, as if he had read his thoughts again. “And I am- wait, no, <em>you </em>can be proud of yourself.”</p><p>Their eyes meet. For the first time since what seems forever he feels seen, but then out of a sudden Oliver’s eyes are filled with tears. “I thought I lost you... I... I shouldn’t have said the things I said, I just... I couldn’t handle losing you again and again. I still can’t but ...”</p><p>“Hey, there is no need to cry...”</p><p>“I’m not crying because I’m sad... well... maybe I am still sad, too”, a little smile between the sobs. Connor gets it, he totally gets it. The feeling that everything is just too much. The fact that happiness cannot replace the sadness, connected with the disbelief when finally something good happens. These moments when suddenly all emotions come up at once.</p><p>He’s not good at comforting Oliver, not with words. Sleeping with him was his way of giving him comfort and now he just doesn’t know how to react. Oliver always knows what do to, what to say, but Connor doesn’t. Uncertain what to do he steps forward and wraps his arms around Ollie, carefully and hesitating, and Oliver doesn’t push him away.</p><p>And then, well, then it just happens.</p><p>He gets it, he understands why it  happens: It is already almost unbearable hard to withstand the need of his pretty little cocktail of pills. So he gets it; it’s just <em>impossible </em>to quit his favourite drug.</p><p>Carefully taking his face in his hands, then the soft touch of his lips, longing for a kiss but hesitating.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”, Oliver whispers. Before he can finish the sentence, Connor kisses him back, messy this time, desperate and passionate and wild, pressing him against the wall, their bodies touching, his hands running through Connor’s hair, then towards his neck, back, everywhere.</p><p>Almost unbearable hard. Almost.</p><p>“I’m sorry, you were right, I’m so sorry”, he says breathless and pulled away from him. God, he’s doing it again. What was the metaphor again Oliver used the other day?</p><p>A hurricane. Yeah, that’s right, in every regard.</p><p>“No, I... I kissed you first, I’m sorry, I just...”</p><p>“I’ll just take my things and leave”, he tries to fill the awkward silence.</p><p>Oliver looks paralysed. They shouldn’t have done that<em>. He</em> shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have come here, maybe it would’ve been easier for Oliver to move on if he kept believing that Connor spent his days high at his dealer’s apartment.</p><p>“I’m sorry for coming here”</p><p>“You are always welcome. I didn’t mean what I said the other day”, Oliver answers immediately.</p><p>“Oliver, we can’t...”</p><p>“I know. And don’t worry about it right now, okay? You don’t have to worry about me or about whatever there is, has been or might be between us. You have to stop trying to get better<em> for me.</em> It... Maybe that was the problem when I was trying to help you, when you where trying – or not trying – to quit the pills... You need to do this for yourself.” He just nods, because he knows it is true. It’s something his (ex-)therapist would have said as well,. But still... a part of him will probably never stop hoping that one day, maybe one day he’ll be better, he’ll be good enough for Oliver. Not for that toxic kind of relationship, but for real love. No worried glance in Oliver’s eyes, no constant fear of going to jail, no nightmares. No more fights because he came home high.</p><p>As if he could hack into his thoughts, Oliver says: “You don’t need to be fixed, Connor. You are enough. You don’t always have to be a good person. You don’t have to <em>be </em>better but to <em>feel </em>better, to find a way to live with that entire trauma. To find a healthy way of coping, and I can’t understand how hard it must be right now to fight against your current coping mechanisms. Honestly, it doesn’t matter whether you’re clean for a month or just a day, it still counts.” Oliver bites his tongue before repeating a sentence he already said: “You are enough. You have always been. And you don’t have to change to deserve anyone’s love. I know my words can’t change anything, I just... I really wished you could see that. I wish I’d seen it earlier, before I confused helping you with trying to fix you.”</p><p>
  <em>Do you really think that’s everything?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t know, yeah, maybe that’s everything.</em>
</p><p>He was so wrong. He was so bloody wrong.</p><p>“I am going to grab my things now”, he mumbles and starts packing his bag. He can feel Oliver’s eyes on him, noticing every move. Normally Oliver is the kind of person who immediately offers help but it seems as if he just can’t.</p><p>“You are always welcome, Connor", he repeats. "You know that. No matter what time it is or... god, even if you might have relapsed which hopefully won’t happen...”</p><p>I love you too, Ollie, he just thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he just nods absentmindedly.</p><p>“Promise me something, Ollie”, he begs, although <em>he </em>has not the right to expect any promises at all, not after he’s been the one who broke promises again and again and again. God it must have been, must  be, so hard to love somebody like him.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Take care of yourself, okay? And try... Try to find happiness, okay? And love, promise me that?”</p><p>To his surprise, Oliver starts laughing. “You’ll never stop trying to push me away, to force me to move on, will you?” Of course he won’t.</p><p>“This, Connor Walsh, is not a final goodbye, you understand? And actually you are the one who owes me a promise”, he adds, ignoring Connor’s request. And a part of him is glad, probably because he’s a selfish asshole, who deep inside doesn’t want to lose Oliver, even though letting him go would be the one good thing in his life he could do.</p><p>“God, you know I’m an unreliable asshole”, he just replies with a smirk. It feels so familiar. Too familiar, not serious as it should be.</p><p>“Connor, please.” He rolls his eyes. So familiar, so intimate. “Whatever you want, Ollie.”</p><p>“Stop trying to protect me and taking my decisions. Stop thinking that... that letting me go is the only way of showing me that...” <em>That you love me.</em></p><p>He can read his mind, something no one else can.</p><p>
  <em>Showing me that you love me.</em>
</p><p>God, they are really messed up, right? Even more than he thought because, yes, Connor Walsh was so fucking wrong.</p><p>“I’ll better leave now; otherwise Gemma might start worrying where I’ve been.” They look at each other for a moment, and he expects Oliver to say something. Say <em>it. </em>But he doesn’t.</p><p>He missed a colour. Meeting Oliver, talking to him, made him realise that behind all this mess and darkness and sadness and anger, behind co-dependence and need and that entire toxic relationship stuff, it was almost impossible to see. Almost. But now that he can see that this colour, the most beautiful colour of all, is really there, he barely sees all the dark colours anymore. They’re still there, but so is hope, so is love. As Oliver just said: That's definitely not a final goodbye.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There you go, I TRIED to finish that sad fanfic with a happy ending.But tbh I can't stop thinkng about the last scene in The Haunting of Hill House.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>